


The Realist

by alvfr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, True Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27775642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alvfr/pseuds/alvfr
Summary: Companion piece to "The Skeptic"Collection of oneshots with Derek's POV
Relationships: Derek Hale/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 55





	1. The Rave

**Author's Note:**

> This will not make any sense unless you've read "The Skeptic"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corresponds to Chapter 36 of "The Skeptic"

The hunters fired without stop, bullets lodging into the metal of the dumpster instead of their flesh. Sweat poured of his forehead, the effort it took to rip the cords from the tasers out of his chest had cost him. No bullet holes though, not for him, but he had used all the speed he had to dodge them. Sacrificing his edge all in order to avoid getting hurt, to avoid hurting Joe. Not that he had time to consider the whole package related to that thought. Peter would definitely have commented, were he still alive, how she made him weak. How he he allowed her to make him weak.

“I think I stopped healing.” Boyd breathed hard next to him, also on the ground, back pressed against their hiding spot. Derek nodded, took in Boyd’s smell, noted the lingering aftertaste of poison.

“Bullets,” he said and glanced over his shoulder, but the hunters had lost their trail. For now. “They’re laced with wolfsbane.” Wolfsbane that slowed their healing, especially for someone as inexperienced as Boyd. The boy still hadn’t been through his first full moon, although it was approaching fast. Another thing he could not afford to consider right now. “You got to go.”

He should have started with Boyd, Derek had realized that too late. Isaac had been an opportunity handed to him on a silver platter, no pun intended, and Jackson had turned into a disaster. But if he had started with Boyd... Things might have been different.

“What about you?”

Even through his obvious fear, Boyd still did not want to just up and leave Derek. Honorable. Loyal. Derek would have to work hard to keep that loyalty, he knew, to earn it. First point on the agenda was keeping the damned kids alive. All of them.

“I got to find Scott.” Derek nodded at Boyd to let him know it was okay, that he would be fine. “Go!”

Boyd shot up and disappeared, running away from Derek and away from the hunters.

Scott McCall, the incessant thorn in his side, no less so because of his affiliation to Joe. The boy had potential, but he lacked a brain. He knew Peter never bit anyone without purpose, but he sometimes wondered if Peter had been faced with the choice of Scott and Stiles, and then chosen Scott solely because he had sensed the dormant connection between Scott’s cousin and Derek. It might be far-fetched, but Derek still wouldn’t put it past Peter.

He knew Joe must have felt the tasering before, the shocks of electricity riding his body. His enhanced Alpha-status made him more resistant to pain, but it still hurt like a bitch and she would have felt it. Let’s just hope it did not concern her enough to go out looking for him, touting that damned shotgun and a foolhardy attitude.

Footsteps approaching, army boots, weapons in hand. Hunters. Derek fled from the spot, leading them away from Boyd.

His shirt clung to his skin and he was steaming in the cold air outside the warehouse where the rave went on. Still large crowds outside the entrance, smoking, talking, making out in dark corners. Sometimes the best place to hide was in plain sight. No sign of Scott, but Derek could see the Jeep belonging to Stiles. No sign of Stiles himself, or Erica, or Isaac.

Great.

The insane loud music was overpowering even from outside and he did not want to go inside looking for any of his pack members. Scott, Isaac and Erica should be enough to handle Jackson in his human form.

Derek automatically touched the bottom of his lip at the light throb he felt there. Almost like he bit it, but it was techically Joe who bit it. Not that he minded, especially with how gentle it was, but it seemed out of place. No fear, so maybe just an accident or...

The pressure increased slightly. Aha. Not fear. Not at all.

Already hot, the fantasy image filling his head did not exactly decrease his temperature. Joe back in her bed, wild curls spread over a white pillow, eyes closed in sheer enjoyment, hands unseen, biting her lip and-

Whoa, okay, he had to stop. If he continued like this, there would be _no_ hiding in plain sight. He tried to take a deep breath, hoping the chilly air would cool him from the inside. More than air filled his nostrils however.

Joe.

There had to be several hundred people inside the rave, but he could sense her in there too. He would probably be able to catch her scent in a stadium of a thousand people.

He gritted his teeth, glaring at the warehouse entrance, as if he could will her to come outside by herself. Not that he could will her to do anything she did not want to do herself. He’d tried that too many times already. Damn it. Damn it! He and Scott had a deal! They’d trap the kanima, try and save the idiotic man-child called Jackson, and in return Joe would be kept out of it. Out of his way and out of harm’s way. And instead, now she was inside the warehouse with a soon-to-be-captured kanima if things went by plan. If things went by plan, he did not want to consider the alternative.

Without a choice, Derek eyed the bouncers by the door. He had not acquired a ticket, why the hell would he need one, so he had to find another way in. The bouncers were large and he knew he could take them, but that would just cause a scene and draw attention. Attention he did not need at this moment. He went to the side of the building, found a fire escape too high up for anyone to be able to reach it and jumped. All those pull-ups finally came in handy and he dragged himself up from the grip around the lower rung. Up, up, and inside.

The heat inside was almost as unbearable as the noise and the smells. Take a few hundred people, pump them full of alcohol and drugs, and have them dance incessantly in a confined space. It was what Joe would have called pungent. No one paid him any attention as he made his way to main part of the dance floor, not unless it was to glance at the outline of his torso clearly visible from his now soaked shirt.

He caught Joe looking at him as well at times. Heard the slight lilt in her breath, saw how her eyes adverted when realizing what she was doing. She accused him of being shirtless all the time, but it was not like he knew she was going to be there when that happened. He had never ripped off his shirt to impress her, however tempting. Just, sometimes, letting his shirt ride up a little or take off his jacket without needing to. To be fair, he tried to avoid doing it on purpose, but it...it felt good, if he had to be honest. The confirmation that on a physical level at least, she desired him. One-sided. He almost snorted out loud at the thought. She was worried it was one-sided! He did not know how he could make it anymore obvious lest than start drooling at the sight of her.

Speaking of sight...

The dancing crowd tuned out. Their myriads of scents and heartbeats and laughter fading into a dull gray and he could see her. A beacon of light in the middle of the sea of people. Everything slowed down; the song, the dance, the movements. Joe had her hands up over her head, face temporarily concealed by a large halo of those dark wild curls. She glittered and sparks of sweat rained around when she tossed her hair to the other side. Even at this distance, he could smell her. Her scent mixed with the bitter sting of alcohol and the sweet hint of...lust?

In whatever scenario she had bit her lip here, it was not the one he had pictured at least, or anything close. She danced alone, no sign of any companion, and even the flock of girls that mirrored her moves seemed to be temporary partners at best. Derek willed himself to stay still when another dancer tried to put his hand on her back, an invitation, innocent even, but Joe laughed and shrugged it off. Storming out on the dance floor to rip other competitors away by force would definitely scare her off if he hadn’t done that already the last time they talked.

That had been a disaster and he was still not sure if he overreacted or underreacted. He had already shouldered the blame for Erica, for Jackson and then to be blindsided with that last name... There was an uncomfortable conversation looming on the horizon and the only consolation was that Joe seemed as inept at those as himself. Blind leading the blind. Convincing her to let something like that go when she had fixated on it would be like coaxing a bulldog to let go of a juicy steak.

He had to stay focused, Derek reminded himself. He was there for a reason. He had to get her out of there, convince her somehow to go somewhere she would be safe. If nothing else, convince her to stay close to him so he could at least keep her safe. She was so human and fragile, susceptible to the lightest of injuries taking weeks to heal. Superficially fragile at least, her core was rock hard, impenetrable.

Not that kind of impenetrable, Derek allowed himself to hope. Get a grip, man. He realized his eyes had shifted into red, a sign he was losing control. Almost ten years without losing control and he’d done it more times than he would like to admit around Joe. _She_ made him lose that carefully cultivated control and the stupid woman was not even aware of it half the time. Like before, he tried to anchor through the anger, but he found it hard to be angry when she was obviously enjoying herself so much. If it was her scent or the fact that he’d just been hit with two simultaneous tasers, the effect was still him slipping out of his restraints.

If she’d just talk to him — no, if she’d just listen to him, completely, without judgment, he could make her understand. He hoped. A human, there were some things that may not make sense to her. It did not make sense how they were connected in the first place, she said it herself, human through and through. But the bond didn’t lie.

What was she wearing?

He unconsciously moved closer, the dancing people parting for him without anyone stopping to consider why. A pair of dark jeans, black maybe, it was hard to tell with his Alpha-eyes activated. Tighter than she normally wore, but then again, she normally trudged around in sweatpants and nightwear completely unapologetic. And the top... The strobe lights hit Joe at a steady rhythm. It seemed to uncover more than it concealed. Black lace, sheer enough to let her tan skin peek through, and every time the strobelight hit her, he could see the contours of her black equally laced bra underneath. He could see the swell of her breasts and the line of her back that swayed in rhythm with her dancing.

Derek tried to take a deep breath, find that ever present anger, but he was too close now. His mind filled with her and her alone. He fought to keep the claws down, he wanted nothing more than to tear through the crowd, grab Joe and take her away. Did she know how hard he tried to give her space? Did she know how he had to fight every natural instinct of his body every time they were close and they were yelling at each other, anger just a hair width away from passion? Other times it was easier, when she reeked of anxiety and nerves, but her anger and arousal dug into his primitive side immediately.

He was so close now, he could just reach out and...grab her.

She had her back to him, a few loose corkscrews resting between her shoulder blades, and his hands ended up on her hips. Not hard, not squeezing like he wanted, not dragging her close, just there. In practiced ease, her arms came down and tried to sweep his away, but no. He couldn’t, not when he had her, he just had to talk to her, tell her what was going on, ask her to trust him-

The tips of her fingers landed on his wrists and they might as well have been dipped into molten lead beforehand. She had to feel that. She couldn’t not feel that. She had to feel that wasn’t normal. Derek swallowed at the effort of just holding still, even as he heard her heartbeat, already going fast from the dancing, turn it up a notch. For him. She knew it was him.

Derek fought to breathe as she turned around and he released his grip just enough to give her room, before placing his hands on her hips again, so naturally like it was there they really belonged. His mouth dry, he could not get a single word out, his whole mind just filled with her scent and her inquisitive gaze. Dark brown eyes framed in black for the occasion, a light dusting of glitter on her cheeks and eyelids and lips plump, slightly swollen, as if she’d bitten them earlier. He could count every individual freckle and he found himself wanting to. He wanted to memorize their location, all over her body.

He had to say something soon, but it was just...

Joe gave him a careful smile, as if she’d expected to see him here, as if she was happy he was here. Her hands went to his and he steeled himself to let her go. If he could manage that, then he could-

Instead of pushing him away, she ran her hands up his arms. Warm, soft hands touching him gently, her eyes following their movement, like watching something wondrous. Her pulse thumped in Derek’s ears — or was it his own? He could see how her chest rose with every breath, how the movement stretched the sheer fabric over her breasts, how it now seemed like a flimsy barrier between them, insignificant.

He stopped breathing when she began to dance. He loosened his arms to allow the crease of her hips go up and down on either side under his hands. Like the lower half of her body lived separately from her torso. Like her hips was a separate entity with only one purpose — to drive him mad. So focused on her hips, how they tilted and circled under his hands, he barely noticed her hands before they were in his hair. Soft, human fingernails scraping lightly across his scalp. He kept his hands on her hips. He had to. If he allowed himself to run his hand through the base of her thick mane of curls...

Derek growled and pulled her closer, not strong enough to fight it. Not in control. She relented willingly, chest and hips flush against him, burning through the thin layers of clothing. Soft open lips just inches away from his, where she continued to dance, effectively grinding into him now. God, he knew Joe made everything harder, but now she really made _everything_ harder.

Just as he was to lean forward to her, the little minx spun around again and he did not react quickly enough to let her go completely, instead his hands dragged across her skin as they changed places. Her hips did not move away from him and they circled near his groin as she leaned back against his chest, one arm over her head. He continued growling, a pitiful outlet to suppress the urge to just have her right here. No matter the people, no matter the crowd, he wanted her and would have her, if she would have him.

He closed his eyes when she put her palm against his cheek, cupping it gently. The inner part of her wrist was so close, her scent stronger there. Still not the main source, but closer than he’d ever been. Did she know how mad she drove him? She had to know.

Unable to help himself, he released her hips and felt the lace fabric of her top. It was exquisite torture. In-between the dark fabric, he could feel her burning hot skin. Arms were bare though and he caressed that silky tanned skin unhindered, noticing the goosebumps that trailed after his hands. Her chemo-signals were laced with some nerves, a lot of arousal and something else that had to be just happiness. The top edges of her curls tickled his nose and he wanted so bad to hold onto that mass of hair, hold her in place as he kissed her.

She was drunk, he tried to remind himself. Not that he knew what that felt like, but he imagined it to be pretty similar as to how his own head swam at the moment. Could you get drunk of a person? Was he feeding of her drunken state? He knew there were other people here, but he was as aware of them as he was of the air they breathed. They were just there. Did not matter. It did matter to Joe, though. The thought came muddled through several layers of infatuation. She had told Erica, hadn’t she, of the rumors that followed her before. She would not want to be seen.

He steered them off the dance floor, Joe still dancing in his arms, until they ended up in a dark corner. It was tempting to just push her up against the wall, have her from behind, like an animal- no. No, he was not that out of control. She was drunk, he was not in his right mind, head probably still zapped from the fight before, and it was not right. It was not how he wanted it to be. He wanted her to give herself to him of her own volition. He wanted her to be so willing she would _beg_. He wanted her to say his name breathlessly. He wanted her to only be able to say his name.

That did not mean he was going to let her go now. She might not be aware of it, but she was as much in control as he was. A kiss? Could he have that without spinning further out into animalistic lust? Maybe. He wanted to at least and gently coaxed her around again, so she faced him. For once, when he was this close to her, she smelled more of arousal than nerves. Even at the depot the other day, her body had struggled with the mixed signals — it was his fault, he should have considered what his scent in his cart would do to her. And even as much as he could read her, he wished he could read her mind like she had claimed. He wanted to see _what_ made her nervous — was it him, the bond, herself or the situation? He had never met someone who could sent out so many conflicting and mixed signals.

Her eyes were glazed over, half-lidded as she looked at him and bit her lip. Derek was about to tear her against him, but put his arm on the wall instead, seeking support from the structure itself not to unravel at her scorching dark eyes. She pushed against him though, allowing him to put the other arm around her waist, bringing her forward.

Derek’s fist on the wall flexed and he suppressed a downright snarl when he felt soft, curious fingertips creep under his shirt. Skin against skin, her hand explored his lower back, working her way up from the external obliques to the latissimus dorsi, just running her flat palm over his muscles. His other hand flexed too, involuntary, and kneaded the soft flesh of her waist where it curved in from her hip.

Joe made a small sound of contentment and leaned her head to the side, exposing her neck to him. Derek could feel his fangs growing at the sight, like he was some goddamn vampire, but it was just the scent. He had not even noticed his own body responding before his face was resting against her neck. Jaw slack, he inhaled deeply, his mind filled with the sound of her breathing, her pulse, her heartbeat and the slow rumble of his own chest filling in whatever space there was left. It was so much better than he could imagine or even begin to explain. Somewhere in the back of his mind something tried to remind him he had found her for a reason, but the only reason he could find was Joe herself.

She smelled hot, like scorching asphalt on a summer day. Coffee and vanilla, explosive fire and unwavering bedrock. Fresh as flowers after spring rain, sensual warm showers in the dead of winter. Head-turning, powerful, addictive. _Strong_. If he could only tell her, explain to her what mate meant. It had taken him time to understand it too, but now he did. First when he met her, when he realized, he had tried to postpone the problem, then when he became Alpha he wanted her for the power and now... He just wanted her.

He was not thinking straight, but he found himself not caring.

Her hands was back over his shirt and now felt his muscles on the front of his chest, the same ones he caught her eyeing, that made her flustered. Derek trained for strength, sometimes to forget, only his screaming muscles able to mute out his own thoughts. But it was reason enough to maintain that physique, if it meant her looking at him like that. Not even aware of where his own hands were until she shifted to make room for him. Moving in tandem like they were two parts of a whole, which they technically were. He grabbed her thighs and lifted as she jumped, pulling them even closer if that was possible, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, and she weighed nothing at all, he could hold her like this forever, with the heat of her body against him. His eyes closed on their own volition when he felt her nose and mouth push against his throat, not kissing, just feeling him out.

This was proving to be harder than he could ever have thought. Was her drunken state affecting him? He rested his face into her curls, inhaling that mix of her scent and whatever shampoo she used that always harmonized with her natural aromas. The way she moved...did she want him to kiss her? Did she want to kiss him?

He could have a kiss, right? Not all of her, not now, not here, but a kiss? He had to make it last, as if this was a fairytale and it all ended with the kiss. He would like it to start with a kiss. Not sure what he wanted to start. More kisses? One kiss, a hundred, a thousand, a lifetime of kisses. For now, he would take just one. He was out of breath, but so was she, and every time they inhaled, they pushed even closer to each other.

One kiss. This time, just one...

Something on the very edge of his attention nudged him. It was different from his own subconscious, this was more real. He stopped his descent, waiting, there had been something-

“What?”

Her husky voice nearly broke him, but it also strengthened him. A sound, far off, almost like a howl. A desperate one. A scared one. A lonely one. Who...who was alone? He wasn’t, he was here with Joe, his mate, so close to him they had to be considered a single entity. No, someone in his pack.

“Scott.”

He didn’t even recognize his own voice. Hers came again, a little sharper.

“ _What?”_

A lifetime of practice, of self-restraint and control, was barely enough for him to pull away. He opened his eyes, as if looking at her made it any easier (it didn’t). The howl stopped, but the echo lingered in his brain. He swallowed, as if to push all of his emotions and sensations down, focusing on the howl. “Scott...” Derek blinked and tried to shake out his thoughts. “He’s in trouble. He needs help.”

Help. That had been it. A cry for help.

Joe’s eyes widened slightly, at least partially in understanding. She had to understand, had to know, he did not _want_ to leave. In unison, they untangled themselves and Derek tried to put her down gently, afraid her balance was off because of her state. Hell, his balance was off. Not letting go, not if he could help it, now that he was finally holding her. Still, the howl. Scott was not far away, same building even, and he needed help. Derek closed his eyes to listen, also to avoid her now worried look. “I have to...”

Her hands left him, fingertips trailing, as if she too did not really want to let go. “Go.” Hand came back for a brief instant, only to nudge him. “Go!”

Derek tried to tell her everything, but nothing could be said. He did not want to leave. It took everything he had ever trained for to leave her, even then just stumbling back like a lovesick teenager, hardly aware of the people moving around him. Would she be there when he came back? Would he be able to come back?

Still out of breath, Derek shook his head hard to try and clear his thoughts. He had to save Scott, but if he did not get his hormones in check, it would be a very awkward entanglement with whoever he had to fight.


	2. The Hospital

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set between chapter 44 and 45 of "The Skeptic", after Joe is out of surgery.

Unlike most people, Derek Hale had no bad feelings related to hospitals. Prior to Peter’s submittal to the adjacent long term care facility, he simply had no experience with them at all. Why would he? Births, deaths, injuries — all of that took place at their own house before. To avoid CPS knocking at their door, his mom took them to a local family doctor who was ‘in the know’ to fill out any necessary paperwork related to mandatory vaccines or check-ups.

It did not take him long before he started to understand the common man’s misgivings with hospitals. Still, it was hard to pinpoint exactly what bothered him. The smells were more chemical and synthetic than anything else. The sounds were muted and mostly blurred into each other, apart from the occasional wail from the ICU. It was just the atmosphere, he determined after a while. Something in his primal brain figuring that this was not a place for permanent stay, it was not designed to be. Here you either worked, visited, survived or died — you were not meant to stay.

At least Joe survived.

Her surgery had been the longest hours of his life and that was following what had been the third longest night of his life already. At least he had been right about one thing — this full moon was a rough one.

Erica and Boyd nearly broke out from the depot — clawing the hell out of him before he managed to get them subdued. Then followed his kidnapping by none other than petite seventeen years old Lydia Martin, a fact he would very well keep to himself for the time being. Drained for power to _resurrect_ his uncle, awoken with a goddamn _dog whistle_ by the veterinarian and _then_ jumped by the kanima the second he stepped out of his car at the sheriff’s station.

As it turned out the kanima master they had been so afraid of was another high school punk, it meant that Derek had allowed himself to be incapacitated by a teenager twice in one night. Not his finest moments. The night just wouldn’t have been complete without Joe rushing in, terrified beyond belief when he laid paralyzed on the floor completely unable to do anything about it.

Now he was not sure if it had been the third or second longest night of his life — it was a close call between this and the night he had killed Peter. Because he _had_ killed Peter, but like his protege, he seemed to cling onto life beyond what could be considered natural. There was a reason hunters cut their kind in half.

Judging by the sudden color shift of the room his eyes glowed red and he gritted his teeth to suppress the memories. Compartmentalize, store for later — add it to the long list of problems. Peter back. Scott and Gerard working together. Kanima now without a master. Three increasingly more nervous betas. Jimmy goddamn Carter vanished into thin air. Kate fucking Argent allegedly alive and Joe _recovering_ from a gunshot.

Recovering was the main word here. For a few seconds at the station, he had feared the worst. Prepared for the worst, at least in her eyes. Just her weak croak of a hospital had reminded him that they existed in the first place and that the most useful staff member at Beacon Memorial was at the station, giving them a fighting chance to get through this without any teeth marks.

In the darkened hospital room, he studied her, bruises and bandages and all. Would she have hated him for it? Maybe. Would he still have done it? To save her life, yes. Would it have killed her?

A troublesome question. At times, Joe was so hard to read he wondered if she did something to mask her scent. Her emotions were easy, they were as visible on her face as in her smell, but some other things, like if she would respond well to the bite or not — sometimes he thought yes, other times no. A risk worth taking? Only without _any_ other options.

If she had been turned, the gunshot would have healed in minutes. He felt his brows pull downwards as he surveyed all the machinery and tubing they had her connected to now. Would not have needed all of this. Something monitored, he understood, other things administered. He still held her hand even though she was so medicated there was no need for him to take any pain. If she woke up and asked why he held her hand, he had a readily available excuse at least. Not that he needed one, but he had one.

The lights were off in the room, but the daylight from outside seeped through the blinds. No damage to her lungs, so the medical team had disconnected her from the ventilator machine and she breathed on her own, albeit a bit strained. Last night her words were so muffled from the mask he had barely caught them before she slipped back into the deep drug-induced slumber. Kate Argent alive. Just those words could cause someone to freeze in terror, but Derek had done the opposite and gone looking, unable to find a single trace of her anywhere.

The steady beeping of the vital signs monitor picked up the pace along with her heartbeat that he had been listening to since he first got here. A steady, and above all, reassuring sound to focus on.

There was a state policeman outside the door to the hospital room, a precaution by the authorities until she could be cleared as a witness. Derek would have had trouble getting in here — at least getting in here and be left alone — if it hadn’t been for Melissa McCall’s help. If he understood her correctly, she meant Derek had saved Joe’s life. Derek felt that honor laid with Melissa McCall herself. For the chance to be in here, he had not argued either way.

Joe’s warm fingers twitched in his hand — she was waking up. The heavy smell of antiseptic gel, dried blood and the sedative that dripped into the IV masked most of her natural scent, but it was there, strengthening as she moved around some. She was still there.

And high as a kite, as proven when she opened her eyes and he could see the pinpricked pupiles.

“Hey,” she groaned and he wondered if she could actually see him or just sensed his presence. She had done that last night, because her eyes had not even opened then. Her voice still sounded rough, but that was to be expected after the tracheal intubation during her surgery. Again her fingers fluttered and he realized she was too drugged up to move properly.

“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice down in case the policeman outside the door paid attention. Even though she was clearly out of it, it was good to see her open her deep brown eyes and blink at him. Good to hear her voice, no matter how hoarse she sounded. Good to see she was alive, recovering, healing — it was so good he could momentarily forget about everything else.

“Did you-” She breathed heavily at the effort, smacked her dry lips and he wondered if he should offer her water, but that was the whole purpose of the IV, right? Should he call for her aunt? She should probably not be talking and he tried to tell her that, but she did not seem to listen at all, which should not have surprised him the slightest. “Did you get him?”

Him who? The kanima? Matt? Jimmy? The answer was the same either way.

“No,” he said and tried to be gentle as he gripped her hand. “Go back to sleep, Joe.”

Her words slurred. “I’m not sleeping?”

Shifting around on the pillow, her matted hair fell over her forehead and Derek was helpless trying to resist. He leaned forwards and gently, as gently as he could be, brushed the hair out of her face. Still wild, but instead of defined curls it seemed every single strand of hair was misaligned from the rest and formed a dark semi-transparent halo around her face.

“No, you’re not sleeping,” he whispered, even if her eyes fluttered close when he touched her face. Burning hot, but not sure if that was from her body fighting to heal or just because it was Joe and him touching.

“Feels like I’m sleeping,” she mumbled, not fully opening her mouth.

Maybe if he stayed quiet she _would_ fall back asleep. Not that he really wanted her to, he wanted her to recover, get back to normal, sit up and glare at him or ask him one of her thousand questions that he only sometimes knew the answer to. Did he want kids? Never even considered it before she asked him the night after the rave. Not sure who had been most surprised at the answer, him or her. There had always been lots of kids in the Hale house when he grew up. Maybe-

“Hey.”

Not sure how much she saw with her eyes barely open like that, but she had tilted her head anyway to stare at him and he raised an eyebrow in return. He kept his voice low as he said: “Sleep.”

“I got three questions.” She sounded so out of breath just from short sentences. Her brows were furrowed even though her eyes were closed. “Three.”

That had to be the clearest signal she was going to be okay. Or that her stubborness surpassed even fatal injuries. Three questions — three questions in return for her taking a pill and staying indoors. It had seemed like a fair bargain, but given how the night played out, maybe not. Ridiculous that she would bother to bargain for three questions anyway, it was not like he had answered probably three hundred of her questions already.

It would seem nothing worked to keep Joe from getting herself killed. He had thought — like the idiot he apparently was — that she would actually listen to him for once. Take a goddamn pill and stay indoors on the night of the full moon. Was that too much to ask? Possibly this particular strain of idiocy ran in the family considering Scott McCall thought the night of the full moon — the full moon Derek had very well warned him was going to be a _little_ rough and he might need help getting through — was a nice night for a high school birthday party.

At least Scott McCall could claim to be a clueless and not particularly bright teenager, but Joe did not have that excuse. Maybe it was not a case of low intelligence that ran in the family, maybe they just shared the completely-unable-or-unwilling-to-listen-to-Derek-gene.

After they were done with the inevitable adrenaline based blame-game at the station — they’d lost both Matt and the kanima, even though the former turned up dead in the river, Scott said that Joe had seemed prepared to stay indoors when he left their house. Then a few hours later he’d gotten a vague text-message from her:

_‘Going up to check on Jimmy. Probably nothing, but let Derek know pls.’_

First he hadn’t seen it because Lydia Martin had spiked the birthday punch with wolfsbane — hard to blame Scott for that, but Derek could if he tried. Then when Scott _had_ seen it, he had let Derek know — via text-message — that Joe Delgado, Scott’s very human and fragile cousin who happened to be Derek’s very human and fragile mate, had decided to wander up into the Preserve on the night of the full moon, alone. Because of Jimmy Carter. This would now be the second full moon Slim Jim nearly got her killed.

And still, the question remained how going to check on Jimmy ended with Kate being alive. The terror had rolled off her when she came into the station, worse than he’d ever felt it of her before — last time it even came close was when he deliberately scared her away by literally roaring her out of the Stilinski house. All that fear, somehow because of this:

_‘Going up to check on Jimmy. Probably nothing, but let Derek know pls.’_

And Jimmy Carter was nowhere to be found. Derek shifted his chair closer to the bed, not really sure how much she would be able to hear anyway.

“No questions. You broke our deal, remember?”

Dark brows pulled in tighter, scrunching up an unlucky freckle that laid on the top of her nose bridge. Eyes remained so narrow they looked closed. “Did not.”

Most stubborn woman alive. With a sigh, he moved his hand so hers laid over his and studied the difference in the dim light. Slender soft hands in a darker shade than his own. As always, scorching hot in a comfortable way.

“You won’t even remember this,” he told her, because it was the truth.

Her shallow voice came through nearly unmoving lips. “Sure I will.”

He sighed again. Three questions. Of course he was curious. Especially if they were still on her mind even in her state. If she could ask him straight out if he wanted kids in the future, what could she possibly need to ask him over the phone? She would not be able to gauge his sincerity any better, the only effect would be masking her own emotions somewhat. So the questions were not the issue, but she feared the answers would reveal something about herself.

Derek’s eyes narrowed as he studied her — he had a feeling this would be about their oh-so-close-and-yet-so-far-away incident at the reunion dinner. Blind as she was, she’d asked if he didn’t like her dress. No, he didn’t, he despised that dress. That dress that accentuated her natural curves and showed off slim legs he had until that point not thought too much about and now found he could not get out of his head. Horrible dress, would need to tear apart next time he saw it.

Three questions. She would not remember this, he reminded himself, and was unsure if that made it better or worse. Was he taking advantage of her? Well, she was the one pushing to ask him. How bad could it be?

Besides, if she got this out of the way, maybe she’d go back to sleep.

“Fine. Ask your three questions, Joe.”

Instead of smiling at the victory as he’d expected, her sleepy frown deepened and her eyes blinked a bit more awake to peer at him through thick dark lashes. “Do you-” A brief interlude as she swallowed. “Do you hate me for saving Kate’s life?”

If it hadn’t been for the concerned expression on her face he would have thought it was a joke. Would he _ever_ have a predictable conversation with her? That was as far away from the reunion dinner as it could be.

He found his own gaze flickering to the side, searching for any kind of response without biting her head off. The obvious answer was a firm ‘no’, because he did not hate her in any way, but his dark thoughts, usually kept firmly under lock and key, prevented him from just saying that right away. Had he, at some point, harbored resentment for her decision that night?

He had heard Joe’s promise to Kate, the intense hiss vowing to bring Kate to justice, that death was too easy for her. Then again, he had also heard Kate’s taunts when she had him chained up — found it kind of hard to ignore, in fact, especially accompanied by the closer to a million volts coursing through his body at odd intervals. Already before Kate knew of the bond, she had figured out there was _something_ between him and Joe. The way Kate told it, and she had a talent for painting a vivid picture, she had practically seduced Joe in a coffee shop.

_“You sure you’re her type, handsome? Out of the two of us, I bet I’m the one who’s gotten closest to second-base.”_

Learning later that Joe used to be in a committed relationship with a woman only helped prove Kate’s claims. Kate was a master manipulator, not a liar. Had he, at some point, suspected Joe for saving Kate due to dormant feelings for the woman? Yes, but only those nights when he found himself unable to sleep because of darkness threatening to overcome him. He thought a lot of things those nights. When his dark thoughts quieted down, drowning in aching muscles and sweat, he could realize that Joe had reacted on instincts that night, saving a life because it could be saved. Hadn’t she tried the same with him, even before she knew who or what he was?

And anyway, could he blame Joe for falling in the same trap that once snared him?

“Derek?”

He had taken too long to mull over the question, because now tears slipped out of Joe’s eyes and dripped down on her pillow. For strange reasons he could not pinpoint, it made his stomach ache to see her cry, especially because of him. No point dwelling over the past, not here or now, there was only one answer.

“No, Joe,” he said and leaned over again, this time to brush away tears. “I don’t hate you.” If nothing else, he made an effort to keep his voice neutral. “You did what you thought was right.”

“I was so wrong,” Joe mumbled, eyes fluttering closed at his touch.

The anger and fear permeated her scent now and like before, he did not need the monitor to tell him that her heartrate was picking up. The bruises had already began to fade along with the swelling around her eyes. Still deep groves around her wrists, looking like burn marks from rope. At the station he’d seen red scratches around her mouth as well, like a rash, but after the intubation and mask it was hard to tell what was what anymore.

Whatever had happened, it left an impression on her, both physically and pscyhologically. Derek could feel himself bristling in response to her obvious unrest. He had his suspicions to what happened, but that would have to wait a bit more. Kate, Jimmy, Gerard — whoever had done this, he’d tear them apart.

“Next question,” she breathed after her heartrate steadied again. Derek had been a second away from pulling the emergency cord, but he wondered if the IV adjusted the morphine drip based on her vitals because she was calming down. “Do you hate me for being human?”

“You’re not serious,” he snapped a bit harsher than intended, still agitated from the previous question and the mess of memories it brough back to the surface.

And yet he found that she was, again, serious. At least she was lucky to be drugged up and seriously wounded because he could feel his eyes turn red at just the thought. “No, Joe, I don’t hate you for being human.”

Was that the whole truth though? Again, thoughts he could not manage to turn away. Even if the wording was unfortunate — because he did not _hate_ Joe — didn’t her human form make this a bit more complicated? Whatever this was? He had no way of knowing that, Derek reminded himself. With his luck, she felt the bond just as strong as he did, but fought it down just as hard. If he was strong-willed, she was his equal.

“Not even a little bit?”

Without anyone to really see it, Derek rolled his eyes excessively at her follow-up. The only thing he hated was seeing her like this. He would hate it just as much if she was injured as a werewolf. They were not immortal, not invincible — as demonstrated less than twenty-four hours ago when he laid helpless on the floor, paralyzed from the neck down by the kanima with Joe at gunpoint. His answer remained the same.

“No, Joe,” he repeated and tightened his grip on her hand. “And if your last question starts the same way, I’m not going to bother answering.”

She made some sort of humming-noise; it would not surprise him if she slumbered off any second now. Why did she look and smell so sad now? He found himself holding his breath in expectation for the last one, hoping in vain for something a bit more lighthearted.

“Do you,” her eyes opened again, fixing him in her wavering gaze, “wish you never met me?”

If the question didn’t, the sight of tears lining her eyes definitely made something break inside of him, possibly in his chest. He bit his teeth together, feeling the anger flare up that she would even ask him that. Misdirected, he realized, because he was the one who made her feel like she needed to ask. What had he done or said to make her think that?

A lot, maybe.

The answer was probably that he treated her like just another point on his long list of problems. Or at least had treated her like that. Even Deaton knew it, Derek thought with a scowl, as demonstrated when he woke Derek up with a goddamn dog whistle last night. Three pieces of advice: Don’t trust Peter, do trust Scott and remember what the word _mate_ means. It was not a verb.

Derek knew what it meant, but knowing it was not the same as acting on it. But he’d made an effort, hadn’t he? Okay, maybe when he sought her out at the campus coffee shop his motivations were a bit muddled, like he was working through a checklist of what he needed to do as an Alpha. Build pack, secure mate, gain power, but after...after what? After _something_ — not really sure what or when — he’d pretty much let her call the shots and he’d stretched himself pretty far to help her whenever possible without any real motivation beyond that he wanted to help her. No hidden agendas beyond that he wanted her to like him, which was an agenda, but hopefully not that hidden.

It was that stupid comment after the reunion dinner, wasn’t it? When he’d listed up his problems and included Joe. He’d gotten too comfortable driving back, too high on how comfortable she seemed around him and just so tired because dear God that dinner had turned into a whole mess he never could have predicted, again with Jimmy Carter in the midst of it. It had just been a nonsensical comment from his side, just to highlight how fully booked his calendar were these days.

That was the problem though, there were not enough hours in a day for everything he needed to do. Find Jimmy, find Kate, find Peter, find the kanima. Train his betas — which he still _should_ be prioritizing, especially right now with the Argents stepping up their search for him. So why was he here, somehow unable to tear himself away from Joe’s hospital bed? He knew they understood his absence, Erica would find it ludicrous if he _wasn’t_ visiting Joe at the hospital, but they were just stupid teenagers and that’s why he turned them in the first place, wasn’t it, because he did not want anyone to question his newfound status and by the time he realized that a pack is only as strong as its weakest member, he already had three of them on his hands and one going rogue in the form of a venomous snake creature and-

Not enough time. Simple as that.

Deaton had not seen the issue. Derek’s frown deepened at the thought of someone who claimed to be helping him because of a promise made to his mom. Where had Deaton been when Peter went on a murder-spree? When Derek was arrested for said murders? When the kanima first started killing? Even as he claimed to be helping Derek, it seemed it was only to benefit Scott in the end.

When Derek went to the clinic for the pills, Deaton had advised against it. In the end, he only relented because he admitted there would not be enough time for them to get the pain-bond under control before the full moon. He’d still given Derek a very pointed look that told him he should have taken the time earlier. Like he did not have enough with just trying to get Joe to understand even the basic things of his world. Derek did not even know if Joe would be able to control it. Explaining it to a human would be like explaining differential equations to a wolf — two different types of senses, equipped for different purposes.

His chain of thoughts broke at Joe’s twitching hand — she was trying to lift it, but failing. No, she was trying to break his grip, he realized, because he’d taken too long to answer again. It didn’t matter, he tried telling himself, she was not going to remember any of this. And yet, when her chemosignals clearly indicated a deep sadness he found himself closing his eyes, cursing himself for this whole mess.

It was hard to breathe, hard to tell if it was her emotions or his own that affected him, but he managed to tell her: “No, I wish I’d met you sooner.”

Derek fought to keep a neutral expression because the alternative was crying and he had not done that in six years, not even in the dungeon when Kate let him know he was helping destroy the pack — again. He clenched his jaw tight, clasping Joe’s hand in both of his, a heavy lump in his throat from both her _stupid_ questions and the memory of the dungeon she helped free him from. A freedom that could have ended with her death at either the hands of Kate or Jimmy.

Or Peter, his subconscious added, and Derek gritted his teeth together harder to counteract the fangs threatening to grow. Peter knew what True Mates meant, would he still have killed Joe? He killed Laura, after all, no reason for him to hesitate at Joe, no matter the bond.

“Please go to sleep, Joe,” Derek murmured when he was sure he could speak without lashing out. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, a simple gesture of comfort Laura had used on him during the long hours where neither were even able to talk. Before the fire, Laura had been a chatterbox, often rushing to speak even with their mom trying to teach her the value of silence. After the fire, Laura had quieted down, but it was a different kind of silence than their mom’s. Talia Hale was quiet because she knew the impact of thoughtless words, Laura had been quiet because she had not found any words meaningful enough to say.

Laura would have liked Joe. Which did not matter, because Laura was dead. At times he had to remind himself that she was not simply waiting back at their apartment in Brooklyn — an apartment that he would eventually have to deal with somehow when this whole mess in Beacon Hills was over. Laura was dead because Peter killed her, no matter how delusional he claimed to have been. And now the Alpha-title had passed to Derek, if you could call it that when it required him cutting open his uncle’s throat to gain it. Not that it mattered much, because his uncle was now alive and out there doing...something. Plotting, probably. Lurking around the Preserve with Jimmy Carter.

Joe, unaware of his darkened mood and seemingly content with his answer now, slumped against her pillow and her full lips parted slightly as she fell back asleep. It would be a miracle if she remembered this. Derek found himself hoping she didn’t, hoping she forgot about the questions as well, hoping that only the effects of the drugs made her feel like she had to ask them in the first place. They still lingered at the back of his mind.

Did he hate her for saving Kate’s life? No, he hated Kate for not bursting into flames in sunlight like the soulless bitch she was. Simple easy truth. No point going down that deep dark well of misery now.

Did he hate her for being human? No, but sometimes he wished he was human too. Not that he could imagine living his life half-blind, half-deaf and susceptible to injuries and sickness, but at least he would not have to deal with all these other problems that seemed attached to his family name. Hunters, kanimas and stubborn mates who practically threw themselves at danger as if they were the one with supernatural healing abilities.

He could have met Joe at a coffee shop, although he would probably have spent some time getting her attention in favor of whatever paper she was writing. Maybe he would have asked her out on a date, taken her to dinner, see a movie, do anything normal instead of whatever the hell they were doing right now. It was a fine line trying to keep her out of harm’s way and in his life at the same time, because those two options overlapped. Not to mention that she frequently threw a wrench into his plans, like going up to the Preserve on the night of the full moon to check on Jimmy _fucking_ Carter of all people.

Whatever the hell he was — purple eyes for god’s sake — he smelled like a wolf, but not quite a wolf either. Despite Joe’s confusion, there _was_ an edge to his smell. And it was hard to believe it was a coincidence that Peter was resurrected the same night Joe went up to check on Jimmy, no matter how much usually happened during a full moon. Besides, Joe had been sure Jimmy was dead, so that meant both of them had pulled some sort of resurrection-stunt. Peter was a born werewolf, Jimmy had been bitten before he died — the only piece that didn’t fit was Kate. She’d died at the hospital, been autopsied and consequently buried.

Joe stirred again. “Hey.”

Unbelievable. Was she resisting the morphine as much as the mate-bond? Derek sighed and glanced up at Josefina Delgado — whose medical charts revealed a hitherto unknown middle name that he did plan to use against her at some point. She had opened her eyes _again_.

“Joe, you need to sleep and heal,” Derek said drily, but smiled despite himself. This woman. Frustrating and... beautiful even now if you looked past the injuries. Deep brown eyes that seemed to be constantly widening or narrowing, following an otherwise animated face. Naturally sunkissed skin, darker than both her father, aunt or cousin, with an array of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Soft plump lips often pulled tight in a skeptical frown.

He furrowed his brows. “You okay?”

Because now tears welled out of those deep brown eyes, trailing over her tanned skin and ending in the crease of her plump lips. Her heartrate picked up and the monitor echoed the new frequency.

“Joe?” Derek asked again, pushing up on his chair and grabbing her arm to pull on any of her pain, but finding none. “Joe, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” she hiccupped and again her hands flailed weakly against the covers, against his hand. She reeked of anxiety all of a sudden. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he found himself saying automatically, not even caring what she was apologizing for as she was working herself up into a frenzy. A sense of urgency filled him, but as at the sheriff’s station, he was helpless. This was not his world. No one to fight or threaten. Why was he always making her cry?

The monitor gave of angry beeps now as Joe kept shaking her head while looking at him.

“I’m so sorry, Derek, I’m so sorry.”

Joe kept repeating the words, only shortness of breath forcing her to take a break. So focused on Joe’s vitals, he missed the approaching footsteps before the door flew open. As he shot up from the chair, Melissa McCall gave him a warning stare and closed the door after her.

“Out the window,” she said, holding the door shut while still taking stock of Joe’s thrashing in the bed. He understood her meaning immediately — other staff were on their way.

“Is she-”

“She’s gonna be fine,” Melissa said with a solid nod, putting pressure on each word. “Morphine’s a hell of a drug and it’s not uncommon with bad dreams.” She gave him a smile — Melissa McCall was a lot more perceptive than her niece. “It’s okay, Derek, she’ll be _fine._ And safe. Unlike you if you don’t get a move on.” In quick movements, Melissa peered through the blinds of the window leading out to the hospital hallway. “You gotta go, Derek. Come back tomorrow whe- _Derek?”_

Already through the window, he only caught the last part of her statement as he hit the grass a good thirty feet below. Come back tomorrow.

First he had to make it back to the depot alive. Victoria Argent’s death drove the Argents to extremes trying to find him. With the kanima, Jimmy Carter and possibly Kate Argent in the mix, it was a bad time to be a werewolf in Beacon Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor guy's got a lot on his mind. Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think :)


	3. The Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corresponds to chapter 52 of "The Skeptic"  
> Warning: Long and possibly confusing chapter ahead.

It had been a long day.

It had been a long, long day and it was not getting any shorter by having Peter’s critical glare behind him in the mirror as he tried to get ready.

“I mea-”

“No,” Derek cut him off and adjusted the belt to make sure the new jeans sat correctly on his hips. New jeans were always a bit stiff, but at least they were whole. For the ninth time, he ran a hand over his cheeks and gauged the evenness on both sides. Peter’s glare did not waver and Derek gave him a preemptive: “Shut up.”

“I just-”

“No.”

It was taking a good part of Derek’s concentration just to mask his nerves and Peter’s comments, advice, or jabs — whatever you wanted to call them — would not help matters the slightest. He unbuttoned the top of the five buttons in his neckline and rolled his eyes as Peter squinted his.

“It’s a good color,” Peter said as if he just could not help himself, hand displayed out while the other one rested across his chest. He was referring to Derek’s sweater. “It’s just a little conservative. Us Hales, we have good necks, good shoulders — it runs in the family, why not choose something to highlight-”

“No.”

“At least unbutton-”

“No,” Derek said again, harder this time, and left his neckline alone after checking the evenness again. For the tenth time, he pulled out his phone to check for any replies and what time it was. It had been almost fifteen minutes since he sent the initial text and still nothing. It was making his heart beat uncomfortably hard and if he lost focus, Peter would have more ammunition, so he was _not_ going to lose focus.

“I think it looks good,” Isaac said when Derek emerged from the bathroom in Peter’s penthouse apartment, Peter himself on Derek’s heel.

Of course, Peter had managed to snag a penthouse in a quieter area of downtown Beacon Hills — Derek suspected he had the lease ready before he got himself killed earlier this year — and while spacious, it was getting crowded with all three of them there. At Derek’s insistence, Isaac was doing his homework, even though both his scent and body language betrayed his general anxiety.

“Just, you’re gonna have your phone on, right? All the time? Right?”

As Derek picked up a small rag to polish over his dress-shoes, Isaac’s gaze flickered to Peter, who pretended not to notice.

“He’s not gonna do anything to you,” Derek said, keeping his eyes on the shoes. Like the rest of what he was wearing, it had been bought earlier as he’d quickly realized all of his original clothes were either covered in blood, railroad grease, or dust. He gave a pointed look to Peter. “In fact, he’s not even going to talk to you.”

“I just-” Isaac cut himself off, eyes darting to either side before he admitted. “I don’t like him.”

Derek sighed and tried to muster an iota of patience. Isaac had, like Derek, lost everything and did not deserve to be beaten down by Derek just because of his own troubles. Trust and loyalty had to be earned. He’d failed with Erica and Boyd, he could not do the same with Isaac. “No one likes him. You need me, I’m a phone call away.”

“You guys do realize I’m standing right here?” Peter asked, but without any bite to his voice. “This _is_ my apartment, in case anyone forgot about it.”

“We’ll be out tomorrow,” Derek said almost before Peter had finished talking.

That had been part of his long day.

Already running late, he had parked his Camaro on the curb outside the high-rise apartment complex with only two minutes to spare. The realtor, a leggy brunette who was closer in age to Melissa, but had work done to appear younger, had met him outside the front doors with a large, winning smile. It took her a few minutes to realize he would not be swayed by any of her charms, and she turned on a more business-like personality that he guessed was reserved for the wives of the men she usually dealt with.

She had given him a tour of the building — like he had not combed every square inch of it and the surrounding neighborhood already — and recounted the fascinating history of how it used to be a factory, but now prepared for apartments. So while it was listed as an apartment complex, there weren’t any actual apartments yet. Previous owners had been forced to stop construction when it became clear that the housing market in Beacon Hills had taken a nosedive after all the murders this last year.

“So, essentially, it’s just a bunch of rooms?” Derek asked when they took the elevator — still the original after the factory — up to the potential penthouse.

The realtor fell over herself trying to explain that there was just minimal work to be completed before all apartments would be ready to rent. Plumbing was in place, as was electricity, just missing the actual toilets, sinks, showers, inside doors, light switches, sockets et cetera.

“I think I’ve seen enough,” Derek let her know as they had spent half a minute admiring the view from the loft. It reminded him of their apartment back in New York — spacious, hard to access, multiple escape routes, but only one real entrance. Thick walls too. “I’ll take it. Where do you need me to sign?”

“You-” the realtor seemed at loss for words. “You’ll take it? Mr. Hale, while I have done an extensive financial background check and everything do appear to be in good order, a property like this — with its price tag — usually goes through real estate professionals, investor companies, or at least an attorney.” She hesitated, apparently not comfortable trying to dissuade him, but equally not comfortable just handing it over either. “You are aware in order to have it approved, there are several rounds of applications to the county and state authorities? Even then, I would advise you to consider creating an LLC for this property before you acquire any tenants.”

He hated spending time on things like this. Without the risk of being traced by the Argents, as Chris Argent himself had let him know before fleeing the country, his accounts were now available again. Laura had made good investments — she always viewed the stock market as a game, one she played well — and not surprisingly, it all fell to him after her death. The money somehow seemed to generate more money and it was, quite honestly, too much for one person to spend in a lifetime.

For some reason, it made him uneasy even if he recognized how much easier it made his life. It was probably his mom’s fault. If it was one thing Talia Hale had always preached, it was frugality and modesty. Even if they were rich, they should save it for a rainy day and not flash it around.

Besides, money made people treat you differently. Point in case being the flush of lust overcoming the realtor when he had repeated his request to buy it, one sum purchase, as soon as possible.

“Mr. Hale,” she tried again, long eyelashes fluttering. “This is a multi-million dollar investment, surely you-”

“It’s well within budget,” Derek said and flashed her one of his own winning smiles, as fake as her eyelashes. Another wave of arousal and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “This has been on the market for closer to six months now. It is barely worth the listing price and here I am willing to take it off your hands without even negotiating the figure _on_ ,” he raised his voice to keep her from floating off the floor, “the condition you have the paperwork ready by tomorrow. If it makes you feel any better, the purchase will be through our investment firm Micora Inc and not me personally.”

No reason to give anything away for free to whoever was stupid enough to pursue him via a paper trail.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to get going,” Derek said after the realtor had stuttered and agreed to the terms as if she had not made the deal of the century because Derek did not have the patience to haggle.

She must have realized it as he left because the paperwork was already done when he returned from San Francisco later on. Derek had had time to pick it up before sending a text to Joe that he would pick her up at seven.

_“What is_ she _wearing?”_

Peter’s question brought Derek back to the present time. He was talking about Joe.

“I still think you’re playing it a little too casual here, Derek. Why not a nice shirt? A V-neck?”

“I don’t know what she’s wearing,” Derek answered, ignoring the rest, and checked his phone again. Still no reply.

“Did you tell her what you were doing?” Peter asked, almost sounding anxious on Derek’s behalf and it was grating on Derek’s nerves. “What _are_ you doing, by the way?”

It was not the first time he had asked and Derek gave the same silent-treatment as before. It was a good plan. He _knew_ it was a good plan. And he was not willing to have it dissected by Peter, because then he might worry it was not such a good plan after all and he already _knew_ it was a good plan.

Despite Joe’s doubt as to _why_ he asked her out yesterday — he had tried to make it seem like her suggestion and it had backfired completely — he had had it in the back of his head ever since he saw the ad in the local newspaper. An annual anthropology exhibition, hosted by the Sociology and Psychology of Berkeley.

And to make extra sure if it was a good plan, one of the points of today’s agenda had been cornering Melissa McCall to have her approve.

It definitely ran in the family, Derek had thought, as he was faced with the skeptical frown of Melissa McCall.

He had seen the same furrowed brows and twisted mouth on Joe’s face countless times and even once or twice on her father’s during the questioning after the showdown at his house. The only one it seemed to have skipped was Scott McCall, as he mostly looked mildly confused most of the time. Which made his plan with the mountain ash ever more surprising. Derek could not even bring himself to be angry with the kid — he’d done it to protect his loved ones and considering what Joe had told him about Kate _taking_ and possibly injecting her blood, Scott’s trickery might have been a blessing in disguise. Whatever Kate had been hoping for, it had definitely not been mountain ash-infused blood.

“Sorry, what did you need my help with again?”

Melissa’s skepticism was evident in her voice, face, and body language. The hospital bustled around them and Derek suppressed the urge to fiddle his fingers like he had done as a boy when faced with the disproving frown of Talia Hale.

“I want to take Joe out on a date,” Derek repeated his initial inquiry and stepped aside when another nurse wanted access to the inside of the nurse’s station.

“Okay? But you’ve already been on dates?” Melissa asked with narrowed eyes. “Right?”

“Right,” Derek confirmed, thinking of the rave and reunion dinner, the closest things he and Joe had ever gotten to ‘dates’. It had not occurred to him that while Melissa now was ‘in the know’ about werewolves, Joe had not come clean about the truth of their — in lack of better words — relationship and he was not going to embarrass her by revealing it either. “But I want to make this one special.”

If possible, Melissa’s eyes narrowed further and Derek got the impression she was sizing him up. If she’d been a werewolf, he would have wanted to mask his scent to the best of his abilities. Since she was not, he settled for keeping a neutral expression. In the end, she tilted her head to make him follow her out of the way from the station.

“Does this have anything to do with her moving in with Jimmy?” Melissa almost whispered when they were on the other side of the hall.

A question Derek had not considered too much. Unless Jimmy Carter was better at masking his attraction than his fear, there was nothing between him and Joe. If Derek was a gambling man, he would have bet that Jimmy’s fear was part of the reason he had offered Joe a room at his place. Demi Alpha or not, werewolves were inherently pack animals.

If anything, it’d be an interesting exercise to see how much trouble Joe could get into without having Scott as a handy excuse. Her trip to the house yesterday was a clear example. Like he’d not just told her that there was an Alpha pack somewhere nearby and they still didn’t know if they were behind Erica and Boyd’s disappearance.

“No,” Derek admitted to answer Melissa’s question. It had nothing to do with Jimmy.

He did not need her to think there was some dramatic love triangle going on. At least the apartment seemed harder to break in than the McCall house, not a fact he would disclose to Melissa at this point.

“As long as she’s happy,” Derek added for good measure, as Melissa’s eyebrows had not returned down to their default state. “It’s more that she’s had a rough couple of weeks.”

Or months, if you were pedantic. And if you were being really pedantic, so had Derek.

Melissa tilted her head in partial agreement to that. “So what did you need from me? Suggestions?” Before he could answer, she blew air out of her mouth. “What’s wrong with dinner and a movie? Or hike and see the sunset?” She got a nostalgic smile on her face. “You know, Raf, Scott’s dad, he took me stargazing once when I was still in school because my days were so long. Picnic basket, blanket, some wine, and snuggling — to date, still the best, uh, date I’ve ever been on.”

Well, in that case, Derek’s and Joe’s impromptu night in the woods counted as a date. There had not been food, blanket, or wine, but lots of snuggling until the wolfsbane left his system. At least his instincts had been to keep her warm or her healing would have struggled with growing out some toes. How she had not bolted the same second she woke up had made him realize a few things, both about her and himself.

“I was actually looking for approval,” Derek told Melissa but kept his eyes soft to indicate he appreciated her help. “I was thinking of taking her to the anthropology-exhibition at Berkeley. It’s an annual thing, but I just wondered if you knew if she’d already been there this year.”

Melissa’s eyebrows rose — hard to read her face, but her chemosignals were mostly positive. “Um, I’m not sure. She hasn’t mentioned it and I’m not really sure how she could have had time.” Her face twisted into a slightly optimistic grin. “Considering how she can talk your ear off about these sociology-things, it might not be such a bad idea. Just to be clear, you’re taking her to dinner after, right?”

“Yes,” he said instantly. If he hadn’t planned it before, it was definitely on the agenda now. “Uh, flowers?”

Melissa snorted. “You know where the name ‘Delgado’ comes from?”

“It means ‘thin’ in Spanish, but comes from the Latin _delicatus_ , which means delicate.” Derek had just finished speaking when he realized the question was rhetorical. Considering the character strength of the Delgados he’d met, it was an ironic surname at best. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“Uh, I was gonna make a joke that it means plant-killer, but you are absolutely correct,” Melissa said with a strange twist in her brows as if she didn’t know whether to be impressed or concerned. “My point was, there’s a reason all the plants at my house are made of plastic. We’re workaholics in my family and plants don’t demand attention until it’s too late. And there’s a ninety percent chance she won’t even have a vase for any flowers at her new place.”

“So no flowers,” Derek said with a nod to indicate he understood what she was trying to say.

“No flowers,” Melissa confirmed and winced when some lights on the wall began to blink rapidly. “Okay, I gotta get back to work. Uhm, listen, Derek, ultimately what makes a date special is the company, not the activity. Okay?” She gave him a wide smile, also reminiscent of Joe’s with the dimples and all. “Great. I gotta go. Good luck!”

_So yes, it was a good plan._

If they were even going. Still no answer from Joe.

“You haven’t told her either, have you?” Peter guessed, head tilted and sounding tired. “Do you know _anything_ about women? What if she’s thinking you’re going hiking and shows up in sneakers and sweatpants? Or that you’re taking her to, I dunno, the theatre and wears a fancy dress?” For some unspeakable reason, Peter paced around in the apartment, obviously deep in thought. “ _Where_ are you taking her? I’ll be able to help phrase something better if I know.”

Just the curiosity burning at Peter’s core was helping Derek’s nerves, but he had to admit his uncle had a point. Would she be expecting hiking and sunsets? What was it with people and sunsets anyway? Seeing as there was no answer from her, he contemplated just calling her, but it was not a conversation he wanted to have within a mile from his two werewolf roommates.

“No,” he told Peter, fiddling with his phone.

As there wasn’t a dress-code to the exhibition — he had called and checked — he didn’t really know what to write. Despite his best mental gymnastics, he had to admit he wanted the actual event to be a surprise, but since the whole point was putting her at ease, showing up in the wrong clothes would achieve the opposite. What was he wearing? Casual, but slightly dressy? He had no idea how to formulate that in a way that made sense.

The two people he thought would give him the best advice were still MIA. Erica, who had forced herself into the narrative last time (“Are you serious, Derek? Joe’s got 3A-curls, she’ll need an hour just for her hair!”) would definitely tell him in no short terms what to tell Joe. Rash and abrasive as Erica was, Boyd would balance things out and quietly reel Erica’s advice to something understandable in a lot fewer words than her. His quiet nod of approval before Derek left for the reunion dinner counted for as much, if not more than Erica’s loud ones.

Hard to admit, but he missed them. Hard to admit, because they had chosen the worst time in history to leave, and let’s face it, he’d been so angry he thought they deserved whatever happened to them. Stupid. Paying for it now. It was like Laura had explained — or shouted at him with tears in her eyes — the first time he took off in the middle of the night when the darkness became too much to bear: it was like missing a limb, not knowing where they were or if they were okay.

The uncertainty ate at him, but he still had some hope for the private investigator in San Francisco, even if today had been a bust. Wasted half his day to drive out to meet the PI to be told the girl they had spotted was not even the same ethnicity as Erica.

They could still turn up there, he told himself. The alternative was worse. Way worse.

One night would be fine. He and Joe deserved _one night_ after everything. For all of Scott’s whining of lacrosse games and parties, Derek and Joe could take one night off without the world going to hell.

Not overanalyzing anything himself, he just told Joe what she needed to know. No dress-code, but no sweats either. He did not feel comfortable outright telling her what to wear. Not sure if he could handle being in a car with her if she wore that godawful dress again — especially as the nerves continued to build with every second she did not even answer. Too short, too accentuating, too absolutely gorgeous on her — it would be another test of his self-control to just drive to Berkeley.

Even asking her had turned into a test of his self-control ‘Why not now?’ she had asked. As if her signals weren’t the very definition of tense, no matter how positive. He had tried to prove a point, but it had severely backfired when his explanation somehow amped up her arousal to an uncomfortable level. Why not now? Well, Joe, because there was no way in hell he would be able to stop at a kiss, not based on her scent yesterday. Since she worried about the bond influencing her thought process, kissing her for the first time when she was that physically affected by _his_ scent felt like cheating.

He could not — would not — give her a chance to overthink it. _Had he only done x, y, or z because of the bond?_ Didn’t matter how many times he told her no, she had to believe it for herself. As frustrating as her confusion was, he should have seen it coming. She was not a werewolf. For some reason, he kept forgetting that. To her, being affected by anything would seem like losing control.

“What’d you tell her?” Peter asked, reeking of badly concealed curiosity as Derek’s phone buzzed with Joe’s answer.

Instead of telling Peter _anything_ , Derek read the short reply from her and felt he could breathe a little. It would be tonight. And they could have _one night_ before everything else had to be solved. And he meant everything — somehow, Derek had even been roped in to teach Jackson self-control now too.

It was technically Isaac’s fault. Another part of Derek’s long day had been driving Isaac to school this morning. Because Erica and Boyd were now _officially_ missing, Isaac’s nerves about the police presence at the school had almost prevented him from attending and Derek had driven the kid to make sure he went to class. Parenting a teenager had not been part of his agenda when he wanted to build a pack, but they had enough problems already without Isaac being wanted for truancy.

After telling Isaac _again_ to just call him if the police made any indication they were not just asking to cover all their bases, Isaac had fidgeted in his seat, unwilling to leave the safety of the Camaro.

“Yeah, you see, that sounds great in theory,” Isaac said with jittery movements and Derek rolled his eyes. “But what if I say something I shouldn’t? Like, how we know for sure that Erica and Boyd _were_ kidnapped and we know for sure by who, we just don’t know what happened after that. Why are we trusting a guy who has tried to shoot you on multiple occasions? Whose daughter _stabbed_ me twenty times? Whose sister-”

“We know Erica and Boyd left the basement the hunters kept them in. No tire tracks, no footprints, no shell casings, no arrows, nothing at all to indicate there were hunters after them beyond that.” He gave Isaac a pointed look. “Get to class, Isaac.”

“Maybe I can just hang out with Scott today,” Isaac mused, not smelling or sounding the slightest reassured by Derek’s words. He glanced over at Derek. “Are we- are we okay with Scott now or not?”

If Derek could be allowed one day without having to think about or deal with Scott McCall...

“You trust him?” Derek asked, trying to keep his voice neutral, knowing it still had a bite to it.

Isaac stuttered as he replied, fiddling with the seatbelt. “I, uh, maybe?” He hesitated and chewed more on his lip. “Is that- is that okay? He _was_ on our side all along, he just didn’t tell us everything and-”

No need to finish that statement. Derek had not been forthcoming with Scott either.

“Just stay out of trouble, I don’t care.”

“Okay?” Isaac asked, hesitating with his hand on the door handle. “I mean, you’re not mad at me or-”

Derek had paused in the middle of putting on his sunglasses. “I might be if you don’t get yourself to class on time.”

Muttering something about needing a permanent address soon because he couldn’t keep dodging the administration-lady, Isaac finally untangled his too-long body out of the car. Before he could shut the door, a hand shot out of nowhere to hold it open and Derek caught the scent of someone he did _not_ have the patience for at the moment. Which that _someone_ obviously could care less about since he intercepted the door and threw himself into the passenger seat.

“Get out.”

“Hey, Derek!” Stiles had said with a falsely nonchalant grin. He was in PE-gear and had obviously sprinted over to the car when spotting it. He gave Derek a cheerful nod, oblivious to Isaac lingering in the open car door, ready to intervene. “How’ve ya been?”

Seeing the remnants of Stiles’ bruises reminded Derek that it had been just a little over a week since the death of the kanima. Also reminded him that Joe had healed even faster than what she had at the hospital and that was another fun little mystery they had to figure out. Could it be connected to why Kate wanted Joe’s blood? Maybe. Could he leave town to hunt Kate down to find out? No, not right now.

“Get out,” Derek repeated when of course Stiles had not heeded his first order. Stiles was the light-version of Joe in many ways and for some reason, seemingly immune to glaring, threats or the occasional manhandling.

“I will,” Stiles began, still sounding too happy to see him, “right after I ask you about Joe.”

A wild second Derek feared Melissa had told Stiles that he and Joe were going on a date.

“Is she okay?” Stiles asked instead, grin faltering slightly. “Have you talked to her? I’m asking for Scott and, you know, myself because, you know, it’s Joe.”

“If Scott wants to know, he can ask himself.”

“Well, no, he can’t, he’s in the middle of taking some makeup-tests so he won’t be held back.” Stiles gestured vaguely in the direction of the school, almost hitting Isaac where he leaned over the car. For a guy almost sandwiched between two werewolves, Stiles did not even seem to notice enough to be scared.

“Didn’t you say we were cool with Scott?” Isaac asked, sounding confused, and Derek bit in a sigh.

“Both of you, get out of my car and get to class.” As neither moved, Derek rolled his eyes and addressed Stiles: “Scott can ask _Joe_ himself. Better yet, he can get over himself and apologize to her.”

“Yeah, he kinda feels he doesn’t really have anything to apologize for...”

“That’s not my problem,” Derek said evenly, although everything with Joe sometimes felt like his problem. If Scott meant he didn’t do anything wrong, he wouldn’t have felt the need to hide it for her in the first place. Not Derek’s business either way. “Now get out.”

Of all the things he did not have time for, it was Stiles Stilinski.

“So, _is_ she okay? Have you talked to her?”

As usual, the anxiety reeked of the scrawny kid and Derek realized it was laced with concern as well.

Unable to hide his frustration, Derek let out a long sigh. “If I tell you, will you get out of my car?”

“Probably. Most likely. Okay, yes.”

“She’s fine.”

Could this kid be any more spazzy? The expressions fluttered over his face faster than even Derek to catch. First deadpan, then disappointed, brief exasperation and settling on disbelief.

“That’s it? She’s fine?” He used his whole body to gesture, head rolling around on his thin neck. “Is she angry? Is she hurt? Is she mentally sound? Is she sleeping? I mean, she’s moved in with James Carter of all people, who doesn’t have as much as a speeding ticket to his name, and is that not fishy to you? Guy tries to shoot Joe, then disappears for a few months, returns as a mini-Peter Hale in his wolfish,” large arm motions at himself, “persona, and now he’s Joe’s roommate and he’s never even gotten a speeding ticket?”

Room _mate._ _Room_ mate.

“I don’t have time for this. Joe’s fine.” _All things considered._ “Get out of my car.”

He gave a nod to Isaac, who at least caught on what Derek wanted as he grabbed Stiles’ shirt to drag him out.

“Just one more-” Stiles stuttered, using his limbs to delay Isaac’s forced eviction. “Just, is there any news about Erica or Boyd?”

Another wave of worry in his smell made Derek hesitate. Unlike Scott, Stiles had never shown anything more than genuine concern for anyone in Derek’s pack. There hadn’t been any hidden agendas with Stiles. As a human, he could have stayed completely out of it, because the only reason the Argents ever targetted him in the first place was because of Scott. No, Stiles _cared_. He was a lot like his dad and Sheriff Stilinski had, despite everything, treated Derek with nothing but sympathy as a teenager and with nothing but respect now that he was back. Hell, even his arrest had not been the uncomfortable experience it could have been.

“Nothing,” Derek replied, hearing the gruff in his own voice. He glared at the dashboard instead of meeting either Isaac’s or Stiles’ gaze, the reeking anxiety from Stiles was bad enough. “Not yet.”

Isaac had asked if things were okay with Scott now and Derek had not answered. Both Isaac and Joe had good points concerning Scott’s behavior. He had not literally betrayed them, but he had pretended to be part of the pack to achieve his own goals. While Derek would not oppose the kid, he was not going to divulge any more details than necessary to him either. The Alpha Pack among those details.

At Stiles’ solemn nod, Derek waited for half a second for the kid to get the hell out of his car so he could get going.

“One more thing,” Stiles shot out when Isaac began pulling on him again and his eyes darted between Derek and Isaac in turn. “Did Isaac tell you Jackon’s moving to London?”

Isaac had in fact told him that and Derek could only think: Great, good riddance. Derek raised his eyebrows in expectation of what Stiles’ point could be.

“We need your help to teach him control. They’re leaving next month, but there’s a full moon coming up and-”

Derek wanted to say it wasn’t his problem, but he knew it _was_ his problem and it would be Scott McCall all over again — the last thing he needed was Jackson leading some European hunters to Beacon Hills — and he _had_ killed Jackson, so he kind of felt he owed him a little.

Already running late, Derek gave a tired: “Fine.”

Another sharp nod to Isaac and Stiles was forcibly pulled out of the Camaro. The same second Isaac slammed the door shut, Derek locked it and put the car in gear.

Now in Peter’s penthouse, Derek tried to avoid thinking about it.

Help Jackson learn control? Why not? Just add it to the list. What’s one more thing among a hundred? Find Erica and Boyd, deal with the Alpha Pack, stop Kate Argent, make sure Isaac wasn’t picked up by CPS, pursue his ‘romantic endeavors’ with Joe as Peter eloquently put it, maybe teach her some self-defense in case she ever forgot her shotgun — yeah, he could squeeze in some time to teach Jackson Whittemore some self-control. _Why not?_

Just not tonight.

He was starting to suspect that both Peter and Isaac were feeding off his own nerves as neither seemed to stop fidgeting and Peter still paced around.

“You want my advice?”

“No.”

“I’m not trying to ruin anything here, but I think _someone_ has to be the voice of reason as it’s obviously not going to be either of you,” Peter began and barely glanced at Isaac, who had foregone his homework to glare at the older man. “Is this _really_ the best time to pursue your romantic endeavors with Josefina?”

“It’s one night,” Derek said, checking his phone if there was any news from the private investigator in San Francisco. Did he like hiring people to do his dirty work? No, that was the Argents’ style. Was he willing to leave Beacon Hills to check on the matters himself? Also no. This was his territory now and he was not abandoning it.

“It’s the principle of things,” Peter continued, unbothered by Derek’s indifference. “You are missing two betas, there’s a rival pack circling our borders, Kate Argent will be stronger with each full moon-”

“We don’t know that,” Derek said and tried to dismiss his uncle in favor of looking over the paperwork for the apartment complex. He gave Peter a short glance, almost regretting paying him attention at all. “And you’re the one who said Joe would make me stronger.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “For some reason, I’m not entirely sure that is your main motivation anymore. Anyway, you are only stronger together if both of you are werewolves-”

Wrong, Derek thought, glancing over the multi-million dollar purchase. He had no intention of divulging that fact to Peter at this time or anytime soon.

“-and Josefina is, by all accounts, not. Do you not remember the legend itself? The leap of faith required to unlock the full potential? Have you not considered that the reason you are unable to tell if Joe would respond well to the Bite or not is precisely because of that?”

Derek had of course considered it, but Peter was still wrong. Derek knew the legend and he knew the truth — they were similar, but not identical.

“Is this really the time to be passive?” Peter questioned again, hovering over Derek’s shoulder where he tried to concentrate on the lease. “You know, I always thought it was Laura who resembled Talia the most, but I-”

That was as far as he got before Derek grabbed him around the throat and shoved him up against the wall.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” Derek growled, holding his other hand out to keep Isaac from interfering or helping as he’d half-risen from his chair. At least Deaton had been right about Peter’s loss of power following the resurrection — Derek hardly had to exert any effort in keeping Peter against the wall. If he wanted, he could rip his throat out all over again and Peter knew it. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did.”

These eyes, this pack, this reclaiming of Beacon Hills — it should have been Laura. Calm, strategical, and clever Laura. _Not_ angry, rash, and pragmatic Derek.

Even with his face turning red from the pressure on his throat, Peter managed to smirk. “I’m trying,” he choked out, “to help you.”

“Which is the only reason I’m not chasing you out of town like I probably should have in the first place,” Derek bit out, trying to keep both his voice and grip level. “You want to help? Fine. Keep an eye on Isaac tonight and let me know if you hear anything from the PI in San Francisco. Any other ‘useful’ advice you can keep to yourself.”

With a warning glare, he let go of Peter and took a step back.

Peter rubbed his throat and muttered: “Maybe a date-night would be good for you.” He winced as he stretched out his neck. “Resolve some of that tension with its source.”

Not bothering with a reply, Derek pulled on his shoes and made his way to the door. “I’m leaving.”

“Didn’t you say it was seven?” Isaac asked before Derek could even reach the door handle. “It’s barely six.”

“Still gotta pick up my car,” Derek said, again doing his best — and probably failing — at keeping his voice neutral. It would _not_ take him the better part of an hour to get his car, but his nerves were _not_ improving by staying in the penthouse either.

Peter had already brushed off the assault and tried to get his attention. “Derek-”

“No,” Derek said earnestly and slammed the door behind him.

“ _Derek, you forgot-”_

That was the last he heard before he was too far down the stairs. He hadn’t forgotten anything, had he?

Wallet, phone, car keys — he would be fine if he just got his stomach to stop churning around. The dress-shoes echoed as he made his way down the stairs, hoping to use the slight exercise as a distraction. It was just Joe, after all, a person he had spent a good amount of time with already and probably knew him better than anyone else alive, despite what Peter thought of himself.

It was just Joe, a girl who made him feel things he thought had died along with-

It was just Joe.

Who also happened to be his human true mate and the most complicated being he had ever encountered.

As he reached the garage, he forced himself to small-talk because the guy running it was technically an old friend from high school and one of the few people in this world Derek would let do anything to the Camaro. And even _he_ made some offhand comment to how nice Derek had dressed and then got this smirk on his face as he demanded to know why Derek had wanted his car tuned up and polished on such short notice.

Derek didn’t give him an answer and managed to eventually leave with his car.

Still half an hour to go and Derek cruised around without any agenda. Despite Peter’s jab, he did know _something_ about women, and showing up too early would not be appreciated in most cases. So instead he drove aimlessly, not even noticing he hadn’t even turned on the radio, trying to push out all thoughts of _everything_ else on the agenda. It had been a long day and it was not over yet.

Finally, the clock reached seven pm and he parked on the curb outside the laundromat where Joe now lived. Dealing with Jimmy was marginally better than dealing with Melissa McCall — if things got too bad, he could always kick Jimmy’s ass. Another bonus was that he didn’t need to go ring the doorbell as Jimmy had undoubtedly picked up on his car approaching.

_“He’s here.”_

Derek focused his hearing to the second floor — someone was tapping a keyboard, probably Jimmy, while all he heard of Joe was her loud heartbeat accompanied by some arrhythmic clicking on the floor.

_“How do I look?”_

Oh, this was bad, thought Derek and shifted in his seat. Just hearing her voice gave him a strange tickle over his whole body. Why was he so nervous?

_“Do I go down or is he coming up?”_

Did _she_ sound nervous? Excited? Apprehensive? Derek tried to steel himself for the barrage of scent that would accompany her if she ever made it downstairs.

“Tell her to come down,” Derek said, knowing Jimmy could hear him even over the Camaro’s steady purring. He had enough nerves without having to deal with Jimmy’s know-it-all smirking.

_“He’s waiting for you in the car.”_

_“Are you guys talking right now?”_

_“He says he’s still waiting.”_

Derek gritted his teeth as he’d said no such thing. “Shut up, Carter.”

_“Tell him to kiss my ass.”_

Great, she sounded annoyed already before she was in the car and it had not exactly been how he envisioned things to go.

In a lighter voice, obviously intended for Derek, she said: _“Uh, I’ll be down in a second?”_ and Derek’s heart gave an uncomfortable hard thump. If she said anything after that, he couldn’t hear it over the roar in his own ears. Why was this different? Why could he not calm himself down? It - was - _Joe_.

Joe, with a million questions and a grove in her forehead and twist to her mouth and strong emotions she could shift through as quick as he could change gears. Beautiful, headstrong and-

Every coherent thought exploded into nothing when she came out the doors of the apartment building. She was definitely not expecting to hike anywhere in those heels and if Derek’s brain could function for just half a second he would have gotten out of his car to open the door for her properly as he had planned, but now it was too late because she was literally just a few feet away and he hurried to reach over and push the car door open instead.

The soon setting sun cast a shining glow over her tanned skin accentuated by the crisp white shirt she wore. Her hair laid like a halo around her head, tightly defined curls bouncing when she got in the car and she glanced at him from long dark lashes. Deep red lips stretched in a somewhat nervous smile, but still nothing but genuine happiness at seeing him. Him. Derek Hale. When was the last time someone was happy to see him? Relieved, pleased, grateful, sure, but happy? Not since Laura and she hadn’t known the truth. Joe knew the whole truth and was still happy to see him.

“Hey,” he managed to force out as she slammed the car door shut, effectively sealing them both inside a metallic contraption and Derek reached out to put the AC up higher on his side to help with the scent. Because now that he got over her face, he had noticed her outfit and he did _not_ have the self-control to drive anywhere if she planned to both look and smell like _that_.

He had somewhat mentally prepared for her to wear a dress, for ignoring her long lean legs stretching out in the passenger seat, but he had not been prepared to ever be attracted to goddamn collar bones. While the shirt was not form-fitting, it was unbuttoned quite low and _are you kidding me —_ Derek had to force his eyes back to the road _._ That black fabric that kept popping up as she fidgeted was her _bra_ and there was nothing he could have done to mentally prepare for anything like that.

Lacy black bra, cupping a pair of breasts that looked to be the perfect handful-

No.

No no no.

Before this, Derek had worried if his plans with the exhibition would be good enough and all those concerns flew out the window as he maneuvered the car to get to the goddamn college sooner than possible because he could _not_ stay in this car and stay in control for that much longer.

Joe suddenly turned in her seat and Derek saw the Beacon Hills-sign zoom past in the rearview mirror. She cleared her throat and asked: “Where are we going?”

“Berkeley.”

Even that single word was forced out through gritted teeth. This was bad. This was anchor down into the foundations of his ever-present anger kind of bad. She smelled nervous and excited and he could _hear_ her heartbeat flitter every time she looked at him and he _wanted_ that, but even more he wanted to hear her heartbeat loud in his ears as he undid that goddamn black lacy bra and-

He should never have told her to not wear sweats. He should have told her to wear a freaking long coat to cover up every square inch of her skin. Behind the ears, base of throat, and inner wrists were all strong sources of her scent and they were all very exposed and every time she shifted or fidgeted he was hit with more of her incredibly delicious scent. Okay, he might have been wrong — there might be some truth to the mate-bond controlling his behavior, or this was just his instincts screaming at him. Had he ever felt this way before? Was this purely physical or was it just because it was _Joe_ and he wanted _her_?

This was the longest drive to Berkeley in the history of time. Had he told her about anchors? Did she understand why he was working so hard to keep himself angry? Hard to tell, because as Stiles had said that time she walked in on Derek changing shirts in Stiles’ room — and luckily did not seem more disturbed by that than his presence altogether — Joe was the stupidest smart person he’d ever met. Ask her to solve a murder and she could fill in the blanks as naturally as breathing. Ask her to make the connection between why Derek had dared to try and initiate a kiss only at certain times and she’d draw a blank.

Even if he had tried, he could not have explained the concept of anchors now that he was focusing every particle of his being on staying angry. There was a lot to be angry about. His trump card, when all else failed, was to think of the fire because as much as he hated Kate, he hated himself more and that was a neverending supply of rage and now that didn’t even work because if he thought of Kate he thought of Joe again and where was that goddamn compartmentalizing Joe had commented upon?

Something seemed to dig into his shoulder when he pressed himself to the side of the seat. Not really thinking, he reached back and found the sizable paper tag he had forgotten to remove from the new sweater. Shit. He glanced over at Joe, wondering if he could surreptitiously bring out his claws and remove the tag without her noticing.

Mistake. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, flexing his arms to dig into the pain because if he allowed himself to be distracted by how she was now fingering the few buttons she still had left he would drive them off the road. She was bouncing her knee as well and like that time at the reunion dinner, the high heels pushed her legs up higher in the seat, but now she was wearing tight jeans instead of a short skirt which didn’t even help because Derek had _seen_ her in a short skirt so he _knew_ what that looked like and he _wanted_ to see that again. He wanted to see every square inch of her body.

Not now. Not tonight.

Joe had wanted a first date and she _deserved_ a first date, especially if she had gone around thinking that she was going to be _bred_ and while the concept might initially appeal, at least the physical act of breeding _right now_ and he was _not_ going to think about _that_ anymore, it was no wonder she was apprehensive to the whole thing. People had strange fetishes and he had never read any werewolf-stories online because _why_ would he, so he could only imagine what her specific fears were.

There was a reason he was taking her to an exhibition in Berkeley. Her turf, her field, her specialty — he wanted her to relax and be comfortable because if he had known earlier what he knew now, he would have done things differently from the start. No teasing, no testing her limits at all, just let her take the lead and nudge gently when she continued to miss every single hint he was sending her.

Claws out — she was staring at the scenery, obviously lost in thought - he snapped off the paper tag and dropped it down the side of the door. A glance over at her revealed she had probably not noticed anything. Which he should have expected from the start.

How had she not known he liked her? It was the same problem as before, wasn’t it? Sometimes he forgot she wasn’t a werewolf. Sometimes he literally forgot she _couldn’t_ read him as he read her and he would have to use words, which was _fine_ except right now where he could literally feel his teeth gnashing into each other as he focused on anger. This was the rave all over again where he couldn’t even become angry because Joe was so far from angry and if his eyes started glowing red now, this date would be over even before it started.

_Thank God_ , they had reached Berkeley.

Pushing the limits of both the Camaro and the law, he parked in the guest parking zone of the university as quickly as he could.

“Hang on,” he managed to say as he got the door open on his side, breathing in some fresh Joe-free air to clear his head. He’d failed when she got in the car, he was not repeating the mistake, but he did not hurry over to the passenger side either. Again, he wondered if it was possible to be drunk on a person because he was matching pretty close to what he’d read about general intoxication.

Steeling himself to actually touch her, he opened the door for her and said something stupid like: “Didn’t think you’d wear heels.” as if that would explain why he had sat in his car like an asshole instead of opening the door for her properly when he picked her up.

“Uh, well, I am,” Joe mumbled, but still put her hand on his arm to get out and the heels made her as tall as him and he could smell everything from her body wash to her shampoo to that intoxicating scent that was just _her_.

The fresh air helped, but Derek still had to force himself to take a step back and put both hands in his pockets. The alternative was to grab her with both hands. Taking note of the slight breeze, he realized he had to walk in front of her to be spared most of her scent — not that he wanted to be spared it, but that was the problem, wasn’t it? He wanted to literally roll around in it and he had one time, in her bed, and it had been a weird few minutes to wake up the next morning smelling like _her_ because he wasn’t really sure of his own feelings at the time, but based on how she’d tased him, he could probably guess she wasn’t _his_ biggest fan at the moment either.

And she wasn’t now at least because the nerves and excitement had waned in her scent and instead he could smell the frustration. Thank god. Derek had used anger as his anchor since he was a teenager and it helped to borrow some of hers right now.

It was not until her scent faded too much he realized he was several yards ahead of her.

“Coming?” he asked after turning around and was faced with her frown, which he could handle a lot better than her smile right now.

“I’m trying.”

Yeah, she was pissed off. It should probably not be celebrated as a victory point during a first date, but it was helping him reel in control again. Nerves had been pestering him the whole day, turned into downright lust in the car, and maybe now if he could cool off a bit he could act like a normal person instead of a stuttering jackass.

Also, he had to concentrate on making sure they were heading the right way because he’d never really been on campus except for when he’d been following (stalking) Joe. At least there weren’t that many people around as he was so distracted he wouldn’t even have spotted Alex wandering towards them.

“What are we doing here?” Joe asked when they reached the double set of doors into a square, modern building.

Bracing himself to finally get the truth if it had been a good idea or not, he just nodded at the poster on the door.

“Okay?” Joe asked, sounding skeptical and the frown on her face was as familiar as it was endearing. “Are you secretly an anthropology-buff?”

“No.” Derek managed to find his voice, almost drowned out by the beating of his heart. This was it. He held his hand out to her, wondering if he was ready for this. “But you are.”

Skepticism gave away to curiosity and _she took his hand_ , resting her own slender one in his and it sent sparks up every muscle on his arm. Not really registering anything else, he somehow managed to get them inside, and when she read the theme, her eyebrows raised and her eyes were wide when she looked at him. No longer curious, but slightly confused and he almost forgot to say anything to the obvious unspoken question.

“I like hearing you talk about this stuff,” Derek admitted and paired it with a shrug to sound more casual than he felt. Of course, he hadn’t even considered she would wear heels tonight — with them walking around for what he hoped would be a long time, it would not help to make her comfortable. Hoping for the best, Derek linked her arm around his so she could lean into him for support and she did not pull back, so it was probably okay. She was relaxing more by the second now and it made it bearable to be this close.

“Are you expecting me to present the exhibition to you?”

“If you’d like. As I’m not illiterate,” Derek risked a glance at her, “I can read the displays if not.”

Gentle pressure on his lip as she bit hers — she could not have any idea he could feel that and he was not about to tell her because he loved feeling it.

A few false starts at the first display where he listened to her steadier heartbeat and tone of voice more than the actual words, but then he was roped into what was Joe Delgado’s world. She could study Criminology all she wanted, it was the folklore she excelled at and the confusion evaporated and was replaced with confidence and Derek could probably spend the rest of his life listen to her talk.

And he had no idea why he had ever worried if this was a good plan or not because Joe steered him around the exhibition, not letting go of his arm and talked. She put every exhibit into context, order and had to circle back to an intricate tapestry three times to point out something that was referenced at another display.

This was what he wanted. Joe just sharing her knowledge without any hidden agendas or point to prove.

“-and most of the creation myths in this region have the gods or beings floating in on a raft or canoe, and deciding to make animals, except for deer because those somehow existed already and-”

An hour in and he had almost forgotten about her unusually exposed chest. Almost — he still noticed the black lace every time she extended her arm to gesture.

By the time the lady smelling vaguely of roses came to let them know it was closing, Derek felt he was back in control. It had just been nerves. He was allowed to be nervous, right? While he had been on dates before — usually blind dates set up by the ladies working in the office of the auto shop — he had never had to work this hard. It was a blessing and a curse to be able to smell someone’s chemosignals because while he could detect — and occasionally take advantage of — a woman’s obvious arousal, he never knew if they even bothered to hear what he had to say. What he did know was that all of these women would turn and run just by learning about what he was, let alone about his past.

Joe knew everything and yet here she was, still holding onto his arm as they walked back to the car. He could smell the myriad of emotions — slight embarrassment at having talked for so long and some sadness he did not really know the origin of — but he had no idea what to say. Thanking her for giving him a tour would just make her more embarrassed as he’d probably come off as sarcastic anyway.

At least he could remedy his initial failure again by helping her into the Camaro. Walking back to his own side, he realized he had not thought about where to take her next as his sole focus had been the exhibition.

“You like Chinese?” he asked, hoping for a yes, and found the sadness evaporating from her scent. Either he had distracted her or she _really_ liked Chinese food.

“I love Chinese,” she said and buckled in. “There’s this great place down by the plaza. It’s that perfect middle-ground between high-end and takeaway only. They have really great rice.”

“They have great rice?” Derek found himself repeating with a raised eyebrow and luckily she rolled her eyes instead of being offended.

“They do! Perfect consistency literally every time. No mush, no weird hard grains, perfect. Take a left here.”

And while he drove to the restaurant, following her directions, she gave him a pretty thorough lecture on both the importance of rice in East Asian cultures and all her experiences with bad rice, especially sushi for some reason as that was such a rare treat after she moved to Berkeley and she would literally eat any kind of sushi and had at times regretted it. Food poisoning. A concept so foreign to Derek it might as well have been brain surgery.

“That is so weird,” she exclaimed as he told her that while he found a parking spot. “So you’ve never been sick?” This time he didn’t have to tell her to wait as he went to open her door and help her out. She rose from the seat to stand in front of him with only a few inches between them and Derek was almost lost in her dark eyes. “Like ever?”

What had they been talking about? Sickness?

“I’ve been poisoned,” Derek said as he held out his arm to her, not sure if she would be okay with an arm around her waist. “A few times at least.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never just woken up and had the sniffles?”

“I have never had the sniffles,” Derek admitted and let her lead the way to the restaurant. Lots of people both around the plaza and around the restaurants, but no one smelled threatening or like anything but human. “And you might not either anymore if your healing’s anything like ours.”

“So weird.”

At least it was easy to keep her happy, Derek realized after they had been seated and he had Joe in front of him with the bustling restaurant as a nice backdrop. Just offer an inch more of information to each question she asked and her chemosignals would spike with joy. He found himself telling her things he had not even told Laura to get that reaction from her over and over.

And as he touched upon the subject of Laura, unthinkingly referencing her regarding _how_ he — a trust fund baby by all definitions — had earned his apprenticeship covered in grease, motor oil, and dust, Joe had changed the subject when he even showed the slightest sign of discomfort. Which meant she could pick up on some cues, at least, even if she had missed a few major ones regarding herself.

“How many siblings-”

A sharp intake of breath ended her question and she looked mortified, which he did not like at all.

They were halfway through their meals and conversation had flowed naturally up to this point. He had the feeling she had just got caught up with the ease and while he liked that, he wondered what to do with her question. Derek had already mentioned Laura, who was the hardest one. Thinking of his two younger siblings still felt like a knife twisted into his heart, but Laura had made sure they would never stop saying their names. Micora Inc and Tyron Lim, the two investment firms she had founded, were both named in honor of the children lost in the fire.

“Laura’s the oldest, then me, Michael and Cora,” Derek told her, trying not to overthink it. To ensure her he didn’t mind her asking, he continued with: “Michael was the only human of us. We also lived with my dad’s brother and his wife, with two kids, Tyler and Aaron. Tyler probably human, but it’s not easy to tell when they’re that young.”

Like so many things he had done already, this backfired as he was hit with a wave of compassion and sadness and he saw the single tear trail down her flushed cheeks and hit the edge of her plate with a _plink_. Of all the talents he seemed to have, making her cry was one he could have done without.

He managed to stop her before she took off, not giving her the chance to escape. “It’s okay.”

_It_ being her question. Not that she was crying. That just made his stomach ache in a strange way he guessed had nothing to do with something physical at all.

“It really isn’t,” she said, but at least sat back down and let him hold her hand. Unfortunately, he could only take her physical pain.

What could he say to make her feel better? He couldn’t lie, not to Joe, not ever and not now.

“It is what it is.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Instinct made him squeeze her hand, feeling the slight thumping of her pulse through his fingers. “Don’t apologize for that.”

One false attempt at changing the subject — he asked if she had siblings as if he didn’t know that both she and Scott were only-children — before he managed to steer things away from the most painful subjects.

It was becoming pretty clear that her only sources of knowledge regarding anything about werewolves were either outdated lore, strange stories on the internet, or Jimmy Carter. The little info Scott and Stiles had found out without Derek didn’t even make the cut.

It was a good thing she was _not_ a werewolf, or she would have heard the uncomfortable thump in his chest when she said she liked his beard. It was not the first time she had just casually referenced that she thought he was hot like it was a fact of nature rather than a compliment. That was definitely the New Yorker in her and she probably did it to everyone, but lately it had done weird things to his insides to hear it.

On the plus side, it was almost easier to make her laugh than cry. All he had to do was be forthcoming about _all_ of the aspects of being a werewolf — including his shaving routines — and her shoulders went back down while she smiled and best of all, she never let go of his hand.

After telling her that vampires weren’t real, she fell silent, but smiled gently. Her lips had lost the bright redness from when he picked her up, but they were still both lush and desirable and he could watch her for hours without saying anything.

She must have misunderstood his attention, as she shook her head and told him: “I’m just processing that I’m on a date with a werewolf.”

Two words that made his breath quicken. Date. Werewolf. He hoped the ease in her body language meant she was comfortable with both those things. A few weeks ago she couldn’t even say the word ‘werewolf’ and there was something almost enticing from hearing it in her voice. Werewolf, Alpha, pack, mates — common words to him, foreign to her and it was like she was suddenly speaking his language, but in her own accent and he liked it.

“Can you hear, like, every conversation in here?”

Curious, excited, and like a school-boy, he realized he wanted to impress her.

“Not at the same time.” He could _hear_ everything at the same time, but it was just a mess of noises that did not make sense. As he drank more of the beer he’d just ordered out of habit, he focused his hearing and let it travel the restaurant. A lot of hushed conversations — he and Joe were not the only ones out on a date — but nothing seemed worthwhile to report back to Joe. “Kitchen messed up an order so they’re arguing, but not much interesting other than that.”

Derek knew compliments were not his forte, but he felt compelled to try.

“I told you, our hearing’s selective,” he said and swallowed before running his thumb over her smooth hand that was still encased in his, hoping to get across that he meant this, “and I’d rather listen to you.”

Hard to tell if it had been successful or not as it sent another cocktail of signals wafting from her. Judging by the pink tinge coloring the top of her cheekbones, he would venture a yes, and endearing as it was, getting her too nervous would only make him nervous all over again. Trying to avoid grinning like a moron, Derek focused on his food and just listened to the fast cadence of her heartbeat.

The comfortable warmth of her hand disappeared when the waiter came to pick up their plates. Joe used the opportunity to strike back at him and made him explain _why_ he had rolled around in her bed several full moons ago. He was able to retaliate quickly enough — asking about those stories she had read — and this was the comfortable banter he was used to from her, only in a new setting.

And of course, he relaxed just a tad too much as he managed to say something completely idiotic again. An honest, but too quick reply when she accused him of stealing her food and he realized he hadn’t even noticed he had done it. And instead of apologizing or saying literally anything else, he told her she reminded him of Laura.

He told a girl he had had extremely vivid and sexual fantasies about as recently as when they were driving to this very date that she reminded him of his sister. His older— and dead — sister. _Great_ work, Derek. She hadn’t even known Laura, she did not know it was a compliment at all and it wasn’t even that they were similar in looks or personality, they were just two of the people he had ever felt this connection with. Laura as his Alpha, Joe as his mate.

“I’m able to relax around you,” he hurriedly told her as Joe’s face had started to scrunch together in that oh-so-familiar frown. Based on her crying earlier, he did not want to spend too long explaining exactly who Laura had been, so he tried to just tell her the important thing right now: “Take it as a compliment.” _Please_.

Risking a glance at her, he noticed her brows were still furrowed, but she looked a bit unsure. “Oh. Thanks?” Half a second’s hesitation before she asked the question that brought them here in the first place: “So, what does ‘mate’ mean?”

There was a long answer and a short answer. Maybe she would better understand the short version? Without dealing with connections and bonds or anything of that sort. Willing himself to keep breathing, he carefully reached for her hand again. As nerves got the best of him, he did not grab it outright but traced the back of her hand with his fingers.

“Equal.”

Which was why those questions about claiming or marking did not even make sense — he was as much _her_ mate as she was his. Equal in power and equal in strength — he had wondered if her manifesting some healing abilities was the universe’s way to balance things out. If that was the case, he would be spared the decision of ever giving her the Bite or not.

Not moving his hand, he did another attempt at changing the subject.

“I noticed the Alanis Morisette-CD in your car when I-”

“Stole it?”

“-had it cleaned,” Derek said, but felt his lip twitch at her interruption. “Ever been to any of her concerts?”

“Almost,” Joe confessed and gave him an embarrassed grin. “Me and my,” her heart skipped and she corrected herself, “ _friends_ forged tickets when she played at Rockefeller, but we were caught by the bouncer because they had changed their design or something. So we spent the whole night in this dingy office waiting for our parents to pick us up. I’m like seventy percent sure my dad was out of town that night because, for some reason, Uncle Raf was the one to pick me up. You ever met him, Scott’s dad?”

“No,” Derek said with a raised eyebrow. He had never heard Scott even mention him and Derek had half-assumed he had died.

“Okay, so, imagine the most cookie-cutter, fresh out of the academy FBI-agent ever, right? Crew-cut, clean-shaven, white shirt, black tie with the FBI-jacket over it, okay? Pretty imposing already, maybe especially if you’re working as security and have some wet dream of _becoming an_ FBI-agent eventually, and then add in the fact that Uncle Raf is six-four and already pissed off from traffic-”

Joe took a short break to catch her breath, hands displayed out as she told the story.

“-and he was just tearing the head of security a new one because, okay, sure, we’d been caught trying to sneak in, but we were _minors_ , they had taken our phones, keeping us locked in an office, not letting us use the bathroom, a lot of shady shit really. So, end of story, we got front row tickets to the Alicia Keys-concert a month later.”

She took a sip of water, checks flushed from the engagement in telling the story and Derek realized he was smiling just by listening to her being so enigmatic.

“Of course, I was grounded the whole month _until_ that Alicia Keys-concert, but still, so worth it. Uncle Raf is Irish-Mexican, so he’s got that whole thing with keeping it in the family from both sides, ya know? No matter how much we’re fighting internally, it’s always a united front to the outsiders. If Dad had been the one to pick me up, I would have been forced to write an apology-letter or something and yes, I know the morals here, but to my defense, I was just a stupid teenager.”

Just like when she argued, some of her accent had peeked through now that she talked. It was pure Bronx, sounding more Puerto Rican than Argentine, and Derek wondered if she had tried to erase the accent because it reminded her too much of her dad.

The rest of the conversation, he couldn’t help but notice that the few times she removed her hand from his — to ruffle up her curls, something that immediately sent his imagination into overdrive; to use both hands to gesture like she often did; to dab at her eyes when she laughed so hard it made tears spring — she always placed it back just next to his on the table. Not holding hands, but close enough to feel the warmth seep through and he hoped it helped remind her that this was a date. A real one, not just for show or for anything else.

It was at least reminding him.

Altogether too soon, the waiter came to tell them they were closing up. As Joe gushed over both the food and the service — Derek had quite honestly not noticed, but Joe had mentioned she used to work in the food-industry — he paid the check without even considering letting her chip in. If she would allow him, he’d buy her a new car. Pay her tuition. Pay her aunt’s mortgage. Paying for their date was the least he could do.

One night, Derek thought as they went outside and he realized he had slipped his arm around her waist without thinking. No protest from her and he was not going to invoke one from her either. But it was one night, although now he hoped for more nights, and it was coming to an end. Of all the fairytales, he had never thought Cinderella would be the one to best describe his life.

“You want to take the long way back?” Derek asked and wondered if his loud pulse was evident even to human ears. One night. He did not want to waste it.

With a nervous laugh, Joe shifted around to lean further into him. “My shoes are killing me.”

He’d forgotten about her high heels, and he almost regretted his suggestion of: “Take them off.” because he liked her leaning her weight on him.

“I can’t walk barefoot. Not sanitary.”

Was she not taking the hint that he wanted to walk because the second they were back in Beacon Hills, the date was essentially over? Did she not understand that Jimmy Carter, her werewolf roommate, would hear them loud and clear and it kind of killed the mood for a good night-kiss at her doorstep?

Again, just trying to breathe, Derek said: “You’ll heal if you catch anything.”

“Still gross.”

Looking at the fountain in the middle of the plaza, Derek got an idea and at least she did not pull away when he gently steered her towards it. One arm around her waist, he spun her around to lift her quickly upon the edge of the fountain, and thank god she laughed instead of yelling at him.

“What are you doing?”

Making a choice, Derek thought and asked for her shoe. More laughter and it made him bold enough to just take her shoes off, careful to keep her balanced even if it was oh-so-tempting to let her slip into the clear water of the fountain.

“I swear, if this ends with me getting dunked in water...”

Joe had picked up on his temptation and he hid a smile as he put her shoes down. Barefoot and beautiful, she towered over him and even though he knew she hadn’t had a drop of alcohol, her legs were unsteady and he automatically reached for her hand to make sure she didn’t dunk herself in the water.

It should not feel this good to hold someone’s hand, Derek thought and watched Joe as she walked. He waited for her to call him out on this being the _really_ long way around back to the car, wondering if he should just ask her outright if he could kiss her because for once there were no disturbances. No annoying cousin, no complicated ex-girlfriend, no evolving kanima — just them.

“You look really nice tonight.”

It was like second-nature for her to say something like that. It amazed Derek how she did it and it interrupted his thoughts on how long she could walk around the fountain, waiting for Derek to work up the nerve.

“It’s a good color on you.” A slight pause as she thought. “It’s the only color I’ve seen you wear other than that one green sweater you have and that is practically gray.”

“Thank you,” Derek said, realizing he had to say something even as he still wondered if she was maybe _too_ relaxed now. The clock was ticking and with the fountain and the streetlights of downtown Berkeley, it was a perfect scene to end this night. “Took the last tag off in the car while we were driving.”

“You went out and got a whole new outfit for tonight? Aww.”

Derek knew he should have been embarrassed, but he was more worried about her erratic scent. Besides, he had wanted to look good for her and show her that he did take this seriously. If Melissa hadn’t warned him, he would have brought flowers. Although with his startup-issues when she just got in the car earlier, he had no idea how that would have gone.

“This is the part where you say that you think I look nice too,” Joe said and Derek realized he had completely zoned out. Her voice was quick and breathless and he also realized he had not said anything nice about how she looked all night, even though he had thought about it constantly. “Presuming you actually do, if you don’t, then please don’t say any-”

_Here goes nothing_.

In a quick movement, he pulled her off the fountain and broke her fall gently with his hands around her waist, digging his fingers into the soft white fabric. Automatically, her arms fell around his neck and her feet remained where they were, her body a pendulum between him and the fountain. Her dark eyes were open in partial shock and staring into them was like staring into space, infinity behind them.

Again, careful to make sure she wouldn’t fall, he moved backward so her feet almost floated down to the ground and her left foot came to rest over his dress shoe.

“Joe,” he tried, mouth so dry it was hard to form words. Her soft lips were so close and her eyes did not leave his for even a second, not even as he leaned down, ears roaring with his and her heartbeat, “you look amazing tonight.”

Already warm, Joe’s supple body pressing into his made him almost uncomfortably hot and everything about Joe was hot — her body, her temper, her scent, her appearance — everything and he wondered if her lips would be that hot and he tried to gauge all signals to find out if she wanted this, if she was relaxed, if she was nervous or anxious or-

A ringtone came from somewhere behind her and it almost didn’t penetrate through the sound of their pulse, their breathing, or their heartbeats. Both froze and Joe was not making any moves to answer her ringing phone.

One night, Derek thought and tried to not touch her as he fished out her phone from her back pocket.

They could have _one_ night.

“Not tonight,” he said and without thinking of anything except that, he threw the phone away and did not even register the splashing because his hands moved on their own, one still on her waist and the other resting behind her neck, over a mass of curls.

Eyes wide and dark, mouth slightly parted as she kept herself flush against him with her arms around his neck. This was different. All the other times, they had moved together, simultaneously, _equally_ , both working towards a common goal, but now she seemed frozen and while she smelled nothing but excited and slightly nervous, he _had_ to know.

“Is this okay?” Derek asked, glancing between her eyes and mouth. _Please tell me it’s okay. Please._

Breathless and beautiful, she said: “Derek, please just kiss me.”

Thank god.

That was the end of coherent thought as he _did_ finally kiss her. Her mouth was just as hot as he had imagined it and she tasted sweeter than he could have ever dreamed about. And now they were equal because she was kissing him back as much as he was kissing her. Pushing herself into him as much as he pulled on her.

He wanted all of her, all the time, as much as possible, but settled for running his hand through her thick curls, loving the slight groan it elicited from her and also the sensation of the soft curls coiling around his fingers.

He wanted more, wanted to touch her everywhere, wanted to never let her go, and deepened the kiss instead, tasting her even more if that was possible. Beautiful, breathless Joe; in his arms, kissing him, her fingertips digging into the muscles on his upper back.

She had to know now, he managed to think as they had to pull back just to catch their breath. She had to know exactly what he felt now because if his heart beat any harder, it would go straight out his chest.

They stared at each other, both panting and her lips were slightly swollen because of their kiss and he _wanted_ to kiss her all over, but he had to hold back because he was as much her mate as she was his and there were balance and equality between them and he did maybe have an unfair advantage so it was on him to make sure she was comfortable even though he wanted her so much.

For some reason, she cupped his cheek with her palm, just like she had done at the rave, and it was such an intimate gesture he closed his eyes automatically, just wanting to feel her light touch against his skin. So he only felt her leaning in to kiss him and this was not as desperate, but somehow even more intense and he just held her, loving how she felt in his arms.

It had to be midnight, he thought, because _his_ phone was ringing now.

And he had told both Peter, Isaac, and the PI he would have his phone on all night.

As her hot lips disappeared from his, he wanted to say something, anything, but no words came forward to present themselves. Her eyes remained closed as he slid her down to the ground — he had held her a few inches off the concrete without even realizing it.

Preparing himself to actually talk, he pulled out his phone and just stared at the number for a second. Not Peter, Isaac, or the PI. This was Joe’s dad.

Assuming the call wasn’t for him, Derek relented the phone to her and tried to avoid noticing how she licked her lips. Impossible to ignore when she gnawed at her bottom lip — that sensation would drive him mad, eventually.

As she stepped away to answer the phone, he tried to give her some semblance of privacy and went back to pick up her discarded shoes. His eyes closed in silent defeat when he overheard a familiar name — Erica Reyes — and Joe’s scent went to anxious in a heartbeat.

Joe stuttered to explain that Erica was missing and Derek’s instincts had him reach out to touch her, to let her know he was there and they were two about this. A pair. Equals. Mates. Her eyes fluttered to his as she flashed him a short smile of gratitude.

_“All right, kid. It’s gonna be fine. I’m catching a flight to SFO, I’ll be in Beacon Hills tomorrow morning.”_

“Okay, uhm, you need to be picked up or?” Joe asked and started walking back in the direction of Derek’s car. Rob Delgado said she didn’t need to worry about that, but said he would call her tomorrow morning which made Joe wince. “Uh, my phone’s, uh, not working, so maybe I’ll just meet you at the station or something?”

With Joe’s shoes in one hand, Derek rolled his eyes at himself and reached into the fountain to pick up _her_ phone which was definitely not working anymore. This was the third now that he’d ruined if you counted the time at the vet clinic. While that technically was Stiles, it had been on Derek’s order.

Already halfway back to the car, seemingly unaware of how she was barefoot, Joe’s voice reached him: “There’s two of them, Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd, both are reported missing to the county. Yeah, sixteen, both of them.”

Derek heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, trying to get his head back properly. Compartmentalize, as Joe named it. Prioritize. The ball had dropped — Erica and Boyd were not living the life as runaways in the big city. Wherever they were, they were in trouble and they were his responsibility.

It had been a long day, Derek thought and caught up with Joe who was still engrossed in the phone conversation with her dad. A long, long day.

Both back in the car, Derek put her shoes in the backseat and listened to Rob Delgado relay his flight details over the phone. As Derek, working on auto-pilot, put the car in gear, Joe put her hand on top of his on the gearshift and he couldn’t help but glance at her in surprise.

Her brows were drawn together, but she gave him a close-lipped smile and squeezed his hand.

It had been a long day, but they had gotten their one night. When they found Erica and Boyd, he hoped they could have another.

With conflicted feelings, he drove them back to Beacon Hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly delayed, but real life got in the way for once. New Joe-chapter up tomorrow ^^
> 
> Hopefully the style of this chapter wasn't too confusing with Derek's flashbacks. It was a tough one to write because I didn't want to just repeat everything from the original chapter in "The Skeptic", but also wanted to give Derek's reactions properly.
> 
> Apparently, my Derek is a rambler too. At least mentally. Tried to walk the fine line of having him extremely attracted to her, but also make it come across that he wants it to be more than just a purely physical connection.
> 
> Okay, thank you for reading and please tell me what you think! Please let me know if there was something I could have done differently or if it felt too OOC for Derek. This was a hard one to write, because of the excessive dialogue.


	4. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little throwback to Chapter 1 of "The Skeptic" :)

Derek Hale was angry. Not the most unusual occurrence, but this was more than the deep-seated permanent simmer he walked around with all the time, now it was spiking in frustration and hopelessness.

Laura was dead.

And Derek couldn’t help but think it’s his fault. When she told him she was going back to Beacon Hills to ‘investigate’, he should have gone with her. When she spent six years investigating the fire, he should have told her the truth. When she first warned him about telling outsiders their secrets, he should have listened. He should have done a lot of things.

And now he probably should spend his time more wisely than waiting for the newly bitten werewolf in the kid’s own bedroom. Derek couldn’t even work out his own reasons for doing this. He could argue that he was using the kid to find the Alpha. He could argue he was protecting himself and his kind from being revealed to the world. Or he could face the facts and admit he did not want any more werewolves lost to hunters because of him. Even if the kid was an idiot.

It reeked in here and Derek resisted the urge to open a window. Wanted to take him by surprise, make him realize how vulnerable he was on his own, how dangerous it was to lose control. Why he _needed_ Derek to teach him.

Now if only the kid could make it back home.

A groan from somewhere in the house had Derek bolt upright in the chair he’d been sitting in. He thought he’d been alone in the house.

Another, and now he could hear it was a female groan, followed by some mechanical creaking and Derek could imagine someone stretching backward in an old office chair. It wasn’t the kid’s mom — he’d watched her leave for the hospital. Did someone else live here? There was another car in the driveway, but it didn’t even look to be in driving condition and he hadn’t seen any movement inside the house before entering.

Now when he focused his hearing he could detect the distinct set of heartbeats down the hall. The person could not have moved for a while for him not to hear her. Shows how distracted he was anyway and Derek felt himself get angrier at the thought — with hunters in town, he could not allow himself to be distracted.

At least that was his cue to leave. He allowed himself a small sense of relief of being spared the built-in stench of teenage sweat for much longer.

Automatically, he headed for the window and started to inch it open — the last thing he needed was for the other person in the house to hear and get suspicious. One foot out the window, he paused as he caught a whiff of a dog down on the street and bit his teeth together as the dog unmistakeably caught his scent too.

The dog — one of those cross-bred yapping mongrels — started barking almost immediately.

_“What’s wrong, Kip? You got something?”_

Rolling his eyes, Derek retracted and listened if the dog-owner had seen anything. The decidedly last thing he needed was someone to call the cops. Without thinking, he closed the window and headed for the door instead, intending to just leave out the front door. The same second he was out in the hallway he realized the unknown female in the McCall residence had been moving around as well and the door closest to the staircase opened.

Great.

Without moving a muscle, because humans and werewolves were better equipped at spotting movement, he waited for the woman to step out. Maybe, if he was lucky, she would not spot him. Human brains tended to filter out the unexpected. Besides, judging by how dark the room she emerged from was and the way she squinted at the overhead light in the hallway, she might not see anything at all.

The girl — young woman? — looked to be his age and dressed like she was not expecting company. A pair of sweatpants hung low on her hips, half-concealed under a load of empty bottles and mugs in her arms. Her long, dark hair piled up on her head in a large knot with the occasional whisks of baby hair framing a tanned diamond-shaped face. No makeup and even from down the hall, he could see the scatter of freckles over her nose. She was pretty, he supposed, even with her face contracted in a puzzled frown. Mixed-race, maybe Latin American, judging by skin color and hair texture.

He held his breath, waiting for her gaze to pass him and move on, but unfortunately, her eyes narrowed. Like she was not quite sure yet what she had seen and he almost sighed — he could smell stress coming off her, tainted with caffeine and he guessed that explained the coffee mugs in her arms, but not fear just yet. Maybe if he played this off, he could leave without incident.

“Uh...who’re you?”

More confused than scared, still squinting his way. Derek took a step out of the shadows — the lamp at this end of the hall was broken — and forced his face to relax. When it came to girls, he usually could get away with most things because of his looks. It was not even overconfidence from his side — when you can smell attraction from other people, it was hard to convince himself he was _not_ good-looking. So he tried for a smile.

“I’m a friend of Scott’s.”

The smile did not work. The girl did not look convinced or impressed. “You’re like, what, ten years older than him?”

Ouch. He was almost tempted to run his hand over his jawline in case his stubble had gotten out of hand. Who was this girl? Sister? Or half-sister? There were definitely some familiar traits between her and Scott. And, like Scott, her scent was a little...off. With Scott, he realized it was because the kid had just been bitten and his wolf-powers not fully manifesting, but this one was somehow different from that again.

He decided to just ask, careful to keep his face friendly. “Sorry, who are you again?”

“I _live_ here.”

Without even attempting, Derek noticed all the signs of the girl having serious second thoughts about his presence. The glances back to the door she was still standing in front of, down the stairs, back to him — he had to put her at ease or this could escalate too quickly.

“Ah, so _you’re_ Scott’s sister?” he said with layered happiness, putting his arms behind his back while he talked to open up his body language, appear less threatening. For some reason, not even this was working and her eyebrows continued to rise on her forehead. “I’m Der-”

“Yeah, I don’t care,” she interrupted him. Part anger, part fear now. Not paralyzing fear, more the not-my-first-rodeo kind of fear where she wanted to get ahead of the game before it was too late. Now he realized what her accent reminded him of: New York. “You’re not Scott’s friend, I’ve never seen you before, and I want you to leave.”

Which was exactly what he had planned to do in the first place, but now her heartbeat picked up speed and he realized he did not like the fear he could smell on her. Almost on its own, his hand rose up to make sure she knew he wasn’t a threat. And even _this_ backfired as it made her take a step back in the hallway.

She gave a pointed nod towards the staircase. “Leave. Now.”

Even if he tried, he could not get himself unfocused from her pulse and heartbeat. It grew to a loud roar in his ears and he did not like it. Again, her scent gave of something that was almost familiar even though it was not. It made no sense, but the longer he stood there, the more scared she got.

Automatically, he put both hands up now to show he was unarmed, but she flinched even from this distance. Okay. Slightly jumpy. Considering how much of her smelled like coffee, it might just be excess caffeine.

Instinct had him bowing his head even while maintaining eye contact — she had amazing dark brown eyes set slightly far apart on her face.

“Sorry,” he said and decided to just get out of there. Whatever or whoever she was, it would have to wait.

He almost expected her to retreat back into her room; she was pressing herself backward to allow him maximum distance when passing. As he did, he unwittingly inhaled.

Mistake. Big mistake. Her scent, although strange, set off fireworks inside his skull. It was reminiscent, although the direct opposite, of the time Uncle Peter had him sniff oven cleaner as a prank and he had to lie down for a few hours. The intensity made him zone out, only dimly aware of his own body still moving.

A sharp bang snapped him out of it and he immediately looked for her.

Unharmed, no change in her appearance, just staring at him as he stared at her. In fact, they stared at each other and he hardly registered his foot missing the first step on the stairs before her eyes widened. Muscle-memory had him grip for the banister as he tried to make sense of the confusing scent wafting off her. It was the kind of scent that made him want to run back upstairs to get more of it.

Not perfume, not shampoo, not laundry detergent — nothing synthetic or chemical about it, it was just the same scent he’d felt from her the whole time, only amplified by a hundred. Almost like he suspected she had made an attempt at masking her scent and then stopped instantly when he passed her. Except she seemed as shocked as he did for some reason.

The way she stared at him made him wonder if she could smell him as well — and that was bad. Especially because he could not detect anything out of the ordinary about her physically. She did not smell like wolf even if he tried to concentrate. For a second he thought about just asking; just open his mouth and ask who and what she was.

And why she smelled so good.

But as he continued making his way down the stairs, he glanced back at her and saw the confusion in her eyes, heard the shakiness in her breath and her heartbeat still hammering in his ears like it was his own. Not the best time for a conversation and he could not have gotten a word out if he tried and he was not even going to try because he was not even here because of her, he was here because of Scott McCall.

Out in the nighttime air, he could breathe a little easier and he continued down the steps to the driveway. The same dog from before started barking again, but he hardly heard it, his hearing still focused on the girl left behind in the house.

_“That guy needs a shower.”_

Derek almost stumbled over his own feet. _Had_ she smelled him? Or maybe he reeked of body odor? It was not impossible, there weren’t exactly any functioning showers at his old house and you could only get so far with pirate baths in the local gas station.

Remembering why he had come to the house in the first place, he crossed the streets into the forest and made his way to the edge of the McCalls’ backyard. If the stupid kid didn’t come home soon, he would have to go looking to make sure he didn’t get himself killed.

He quickly realized the girl had gone downstairs into the kitchen and he could see her moving through the window. That made him feel like a royal creep, so he averted his eyes, staring out in between the trees instead. Now he even felt his own heart beating hard like it was trying to stay in tune with hers.

What was going on?

Was he being targeted for something? Could the girl have some kind of abilities? It was one thing masking your own chemosignals, it was something else to conjure them. She had smelled confused, scared, annoyed — which was somewhat amusing, he had to admit — and tired. Hard to fake something like that. She had also smelled amazing and nearly made him trip down the stairs, so there was that as well.

The only possible explanation pushed itself to the forefront of his mind and he resolutely pushed it back. Possible? Maybe. Plausible? No.

And he was _still_ listening to her heartbeat, so that had to stop right away. Besides, she was human. And somehow, possibly, probably related to the idiot kid who was _dating_ the hunter’s daughter and going to get them both killed. No. Derek did not need more complications right now. Things were too complicated already.

Feeling the chill, but not really bothered by it, Derek stuffed his hands into the lined pockets of his jacket and pushed his back against the tree trunk. Five more minutes and he would have to go look for the idiot kid.

Despite his best efforts to focus on the dark trees and forest-sounds, he heard the radio turn on inside the McCall house and the soft humming from the girl — the denotation did not sit right with him, but the alternative was young woman and he wished he knew her name instead.

It made him feel better when he heard how her heartbeat went in a slower, steady rhythm now. No longer scared and _why would that make him feel better?_

Laura was dead. Some random Alpha was biting new people. Hunters were back in Beacon Hills. Things were too complicated already.

The possible, but implausible, explanation made him grit his teeth together. The odds were so immensely low it made him question his sanity. The timing alone was enough to make him laugh. Here? Now? A few days since he lost the last person to ever care about him in the same town he’d lost absolutely everything? Was this the universe throwing him a bone?

Fat chance. He did not want it.

If — and it was a strong _if_ — it was what he thought it might possibly be, it was a hell of a thing to bring upon this poor...young woman. Whatever she wanted in life — although judging by the sounds from the house now the first thing she should wish for was a decent singing voice — he was not equipped to provide it. Happiness was a foreign word for him, same with normalcy and peace.

And yet, a small forgotten voice in the back of his head added, it was some coincidence to happen to meet her just now.

The universe always restored balance, his mom had taught him that.

Which he did not care about right now, he reminded himself.

Shit, he was too distracted. Before he could get his hands out of his jacket, Scott McCall came bounding over the neighbor’s fence and headed straight for his own bedroom window. The sound of claws on glass revealed his current state and Derek threw a concerned glance to the girl — screw it, he was sticking with ‘girl’ until further notice — still in the kitchen.

Scott was not making any attempt at stealth, in fact Derek was surprised the whole neighborhood didn’t hear him grunting and stumbling around in his own bedroom. The girl definitely heard as Derek could hear her heartbeat thump harder again.

Stuck in the treeline, Derek wondered if he had to intervene. His limited experience with newly bitten werewolves made it hard to tell how out of control Scott might be.

_“Scott?”_

She sounded scared and he did not like it. But he liked revealing himself even less and she would definitely think he was a creep for hanging around in their bushes after she kicked him out. Not that he cared what she thought of him.

_“Shit. Shit shit shit.”_

Her voice grew fainter as she presumably went upstairs. Derek rolled his eyes — Scott was still groaning and growling around, he hadn’t heard his (probably) sister call out. He’d intervene, Derek told himself, if things went south. Maybe a little too-close-for-comfort scare was what Scott needed to make him realize why he needed Derek right now.

The second the screaming started Derek was on the roof, ready to jump inside the window. A _thump_ and a shrill yelp from Scott made him pause.

_“JOE! Stop! Stop, it’s me, stop!”_

Derek paused, hovering on all fours on the rooftop, listening to the frantic conversation and the continued swearing. Joe? The girl’s name was _Joe?_ Or was it Jo, like from Little Women? Probably a nickname, short for Johanna or Josephine or Joseline.

He could smell blood, but it was not hers. Whatever had happened, Scott had caught the worst of it. The girl named Joe was berating Scott for sneaking in and her voice grated on Derek’s nerves. She seemed like a lot, more than he was willing to bother with right now.

Or anytime soon.

Scott was talking normally, no longer morphed, so Derek slunk back. Their squabbling meant they were definitely siblings. And the last thing he needed was any ties to Scott McCall’s sister.

The kid was so focused on arguing with this _Joe_ that he hadn’t heard Derek on the roof — it was like he was _trying_ to remain half-deaf at all times — but at least it meant Derek could take off without detection. He’d heard his name get mentioned and that would be enough of a wakeup-call for Scott today, how easily people could attack his loved ones if he didn’t start covering his tracks.

Derek ran off into the woods, glad of the fresh air that diluted the still lingering scent-bomb dropped on him earlier. Laura’s death had thrown him off his game, he needed to focus on the task at hand and Joe McCall, he decided, was _not_ a part of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet chapter with Derek's POV of his and Joe's first meeting. 
> 
> Just a little somethin' somethin' to pass the time until the next chapter of "The Skeptic". 
> 
> Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think :)


End file.
